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THE STORY 

OF LOUISE 


From the French of 
George de Fontanges, 


By DESHLER WELCH. 





THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Cop»E8 Received 

APR. 24 1901 

COPVRMIHT ENTRY 

CLASS CO%Xa. N». 
COPY B. 


Copyright, 1901 


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PREFACE. 


“The Story of Louise’’ haslts daily 
parallel. The reflections and exper- 
iences of Lucien Flavel will not appear 
to the average man to be impossible or 
overdrawn. What women will think 
of them it would be absurd for me to 
assume. 

I think every student of the social 
conditions as they exist, not only in 
Paris, but in cities like London, Berlin, 
Vienna, St. Petersburg and New York, 
will agree with me that there is a cer- 
tain value in the circulation of a story 
such as this. No man is so wise that 
he is not to be easily fooled by a woman, 
and women seem to have contempt 
for men who feel compelled to obey 
them. 

Flavel’s unhappy confession may be 
useful as a probe. 

George de Fontanges. 



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VI. Don Escamillo - - - - 61 

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VII. The Ride to Mentone - - - 74 




VIII. ‘‘PourQuoi?” - . . 86 

IX. The Ring- . - - - 103 

X. The Sister of Monsieur Battin - 115 

XI. The Wine Spills - - - 131 

XII. Captain Remenoncq - - - 144 

XIII. “Alger lya Blanche” - - 158 

XIV. The House of Zohr - - - 166 

XV. After Decapitation — Then What ? 187 

XVI. A Courteous Consideration - 191 



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THE STORY OF LOUISE 


Cover designed by W. W. Denslow. Other 
illustrations by prominent artists. 



The Story of Louise. 

I. 

The Wing of a Bird. 

I AM neither journalist nor feuille- 
tonist; nevertheless what is here 
written will be printed, no mat- 
ter how ungracefully it may be ex- 
pressed or how impertinent may be the 
arraignment. There is at least a satis- 
faction in saying exactly what one 
thinks. 

There are a number of ladies and 
gentlemen in Paris who will foolishly 
seek to prevent the circulation of this 
book, but the more copies they buy to 
burn, the more copies will the publish- 
ers print, and then everybody will be 
talking about it and I shall be consid- 
ered, in the light of present day stupid- 
ity, a successful author. 

However it will be only the brief pop- 
ularity of a one-volume story teller, and 


The Story of Louise. i 

many of my readers will look upon me as 
an ungrateful liar. 

But the government, which is ever 
on the alert, Avill protect me as you shall 
see. 

It is the story of a woman and of a 
friend of mine. 

The friend was her husband. 

As I am not writing fiction I cannot 
develop my surprises by the ingenious 
appliances of suspense, the most power- 
ful factor in dramatic action which my 
friend D’Ennery so admirably employs. 
This is a true story and was not theatri- 
cally constructed for public approval. 
More than that, I do not believe the 
ethics of the story are fitted for a public 
performance. It is simply a narrative of 
psychological interest and you must per- 
mit me. Monsieur and Madam, the privi- 
lege of telling it in my own way. 


10 


The Stoi^ of Louise 


First, I will describe the woman. She 
did not have the face of a Madonna. 
Nature has made that feminine fervour 
synonymous with maternity. It was sen- 
sual. It was full of splendid, dangerous 
warmth and magnetism. Her hair was a 
golden-brown ; beautiful, alluring, en- 
snaring. She had wondrous oyesj luf^- 
trously blue, almost diaphanous, very 
large, and arched by finely marked 
brows. Her gaze was fawn-like and sub- 
missive, but in making it submissive Na- 
ture lied. 

Her figure was modelled along the 
lines of Jetaine’s goddess, now reposing 
in the salon of that old fool, Gustave 
Barbou, whose idiotic idolatry of it is 
pretty well known throughout Paris. 

She had a supei^b neck. I have seen 
women look upon it with admiration. I 
often wondered what their sensations 
were. As for myself I beheld it with 
11 


The Story of Louise 


fortitude. It ran into the roundness of 
perfect fruit. Her waist was small, her 
hips were large and attracted the at- 
tention of men. 

She was in the twenty-fifth year of 
her career when I was introduced to 
her by George Cadal. Her name was 
Louise des Chapelles. 

I wish to God I had never met her ! 

It was at the hotel of Madame Bruton, 
Kue St. Honore. I had gone there 
disconsolately, and had asked for an 
introduction to a wickedly virtuous 
young woman who was violently flirting 
her fan at that moment in a desperate 
encounter with a man who had an oily 
complexion. 

^^My dear boy,’’ said my charming 
hostess, ^fit will be of no service to you. 
She is on the eve of marriage, but if you 
will possess your soul in patience and 
try my new Erard, I will give you the 


12 


The Story of Louise 

opportunity of meeting one who will 
interest you at once. There is no possi- 
ble objection to your knowing her.’^ 

With this inducement I sat down at 
a magnificent instrument. It responded 
with wonderful feeling. An inspiration 
filled me to the verge of delirium. There 
it was that I composed ^^Reve d’amour’^, 
a waltz that won for me the praise of 
Offenbach. 

Ten minutes afterwards I was gazing 
into the hyaline depths of Mademoiselle 
des Chapelles’ eyes. Twenty minutes 
after we were exchanging confidences. 

Before I left her I swore I would be 
at her knees the next day. 

, ^^Do not announce yourself by card/^ 
she said, will instruct the concierge 
and you may come to my apartment at 
once.’^ 

I went to her the following afternoon 
in a trepidation that no woman could 


1 


The Story of Louise 

understand or experience. I was there 
on the second — ^three o’clock. 

That fatal hour ! 

I was there at the very moment be- 
cause I had arranged all my affairs with 
that one end in view. 

She, however, kept me waiting by 
some frivolous excuse for at least a quar- 
ter of an hour, during which time I was 
enabled to study the bold bric-a-brac and 
all the unclothed art in the room. She 
entered finally, with the sweep of a 
princess, and after a salutation that en- 
abled me to almost taste the flesh of her 
hand, she drew me over to the sofa. I 
still retained her grasp, or rather she re- 
tained mine, for her soft, pliable Angers 
had a strange tenacity of which I believe 
she was unconscious. On her right hand, 
on the third finger, she wore a very large 
and singularly carved ring. The color 
was a dead gold. A¥ithin the scroll-work 


14 


The Story of Louise 


was the wing of a bird, the claw of a 
lizard, and the head of a snake in which 
were inserted two eyes of opal. She said 
it once belonged to her brother, a captain 
of the Chasseurs d’Afrique, who took 
it from a hybrid Spaniard he had killed 
in the field of battle as a legitimate 
enemy, but who was really a rival in an 
affair of love. Her brother was after- 
ward shot. She attempted unsuccessful- 
ly to restore the ring to the woman whose 
name was engraved within, and whose 
identity she refused to reveal to me. 


II. 


The Evening of the Third Day. 

F oe three successive days I was 
fool enough to believe that 
Louise des Chapelles was a 
young woman who was nibbling in 
the grasses of ecstatic widowhood. I 
have told you of the first day. It 
was simply a beginning. The second 
afternoon I put my arm around her 
waist, and on the third afternoon the 
flush of victory drove me mad. It was 
five o’clock when she sent me" away. The 
sun at that hour was gilding only the 
tops of the towers of Notre Dame and 
the Palais de Justice. The concierge 
eyed me impudently when I passed her. 
As I pursued my way to the quay Malo- 
quais, I was hardly conscious that I 
walked upon the pavements. A singular 
thrill permeated my whole body and 


16 


The Story of Louise 

attuned itself to a mental condition of 
exquisite harmony. When I reached the 
banks of the Seine I gazed upon its shin- 
ing surface as one in an hypnotic trance. 
It seemed as though a remarkable 
change had taken place in me ; could it 
be that this was my astral body ? 

When at length I reached my own 
apartment I found my faithful Hen- 
riette spreading the white cloth on my 
little mahogany table, and my dog, 
Prince of Trebizonde, stretched out on 
the lion skin I had brought from the 
Graaf-Keinet. Henriette and the dog 
both looked at me wonderingly. A 
glance in the mirror accounted for it. 

My face was as red as the sands of 
Sahara ! 

I could fool Henriette, but I didnT 
like the apparent suspicion of the dog. 

^^You are so much later than usual. 
Monsieur, that I had begun to be 

17 


The Story of Louise 

alarmed/^ Henriette said respectfully. 

This comes from being too punctual. 
I must be careful. 

stopped in to see old Bernard/’ I 
replied. ^Tlis shop always tempts me 
and he talks forever.” 

Henriette, whose faimily name was 
Du Buison, had assisted to wean me, and 
since then she had presumed upon fam- 
ily connection. This was frequently a 
nuisance, but she was an accomplished 
cook, had no relatives, and obtained the 
salads for my table at the lowest mar- 
ket prices. There was not in all Paris a 
more admirable administrator in the 
cuisine of a bachelor. Moreover, she 
knew how to starch my shirts. 

Finally, by luxuriant ablutions — a 
tepid bath and a quarter litre of violet 
water — I cooled my blood; I deftly 
combed the curls of my disheveled hair 
and mustache, and sat down at my table 


18 


Tlie Story of Louise 


while a satisfied bark came from the dog 
who leaped upon the chair that was 
regularly placed opposite me waiting 
for its future mistress. 

Being an enthusiastic disciple of Sav- 
arin, I was generally attended by good 
appetite. One need not be a glutton to 
think of food; I enjoyed much in the 
measure of its philosophy. The piece de 
resistance OYL this occasion was a steak 
a la Bordelatse with but two side dishes, 
pommes de terre and maccaroni au 
graiin which was cooked to a turn, and 
daintily served on silver plates that my 
great grandfather (who in his time was 
a greater royalist than Louis XVIII) 
used in the entertainment of all kinds of 
men, and on more than one occasion it 
was said that even Admiral Villeneuve 
had helped to sweep one of the platters 
clean enough to decipher the very com- 
plicated monogram. 


19 


The Story of Louise 

I have a purpose in speaking of these 
things, and if it does not so appear to 
you, perhaps when I am finished you 
will find that in such digression you will 
have learned something of my character. 

After Henriette had served me with a 
demi-tasse^ I lighted a pipe and sat be- 
fore the fire — for it was late in the 
autumn — and tried to interest myself in 
Guespin’s ^^Quality of Melancholy,” but 
it became so lugubrious that I fancied 
the Prince of Trebizonde was becoming 
infected. He whined dolefully for a 
moment just before I fell asleep in the 
large tapestry chair of my great grand- 
father. 

I was suddenly awakened by the sense 
of someone standing near me. It was 
George Cadal. He was a young man 
with a blonde complexion, who had the 
privilege of my apartment. Our friend- 
ship had been of a peculiar nature; he 
20 


Tlie Story of Louise 

was reticent; I was rather loquacious in 
his company. 

Have you not found that there are 
many men who are capable of accepting 
all the benefits of the gods without hav- 
ing the slightest sense of the obligation ? 
He was one of them, and I knew that 
some day I would insist upon extracting 
from him quid pro quo. 

He was lighting a cigarette when I 
opened my eyes on him, and his insinuat- 
ing expression annoyed me. The Prince 
of Trebizonde was on his haunches 
watching him curiously. 

^^Well, Lucien,’’ he said, have come 
to ask your advice. First give me some 
brandy and water, for I need it; then I 
will talk. Will you listen?’’ 

Of course I cheerfully acquiesced, and 
rang the bell for Henriette. She brought 
the glasses and some cracked ice. 

^^This is the best brandy in Paris,” 

21 


The Story of Louise 

Oadal said, as he tasted it with a smack 
and followed it with a thirsty gulp. He 
rolled up another cigarette of strong 
Perique, and paced the floor nervously, 

^^Come, what is it?’’ I asked. He 
stopped and blew a cloud of smoke to- 
wards the ceiling, 
am in love!” 

^^That is nothing singular,” I replied, 
^^you frequently are.” 

^^This time,” he went on, ^Tt is seri- 
ous. I want to marry her.” 

^^Are you worthy of her ?” 

He faced me with a devilish look of 
astonishment. 

^^Tou put it strangely,” he said. ^^You 
assume — ^what ? That I am bourgeois — 
canaille ?” 

^^Ho, I assume that you are aspiring 
for the hand of a noble woman, one who 
is beautiful, accomplished — are you 
not?” 


22 


The Story of Louise 

^^She is all of that/’ 

^^She is virtuous ?” 

^^She is an angel.” 

^^Are you?” 

^^What?” 

^^Virtuous.” 

^^ISTo ! by God, no ! You are right, I 
am not worthy of her — but Lucien,”— - 
he stood in front of me, his face white 
with excitement — must marry her; 
you must help me !” 

^^What do you wish me to do?” I 
asked with an air of complaisance. 
^^Does she love you ?” 

^^Yes.” 

His eyes fell; he looked at the dog. 

^^Then what is the difficulty? You 
have wealth — and you have position ?” 

^^There is an embarrassment.” 

^^Tell me — perhaps I can be an am- 
bassador.” 

^^You can Lucien,” said Cadal slowly 


23 


The Story of Louise 

and with a terrible intensity, ^^you can 
— an ambassador extraordinary 
^Then out with it!’’ 

am already married.” 

^^Married — ^you — ^you !” 

I fell back in the chair with amaze- 
ment. I had known George Cadal 
nearly all my life. We had visited 
together the haunts of Paris; I had seen 
him fall in love with the pretty actresses 
of the Folles Bergeres a score of times ; I 
had been with him in the hospital of La 
Charpeterie when we had both posed as 
young students in our rounds with the 
physicians through the women’s ward. 
1 had been with him in the studios of 
the Quartier-Latin — but he had never 
confessed this. How had he avoided it ? 
I accused him of duplicity ! 

^^Yes, married,” he repeated, ^^a year 
ago. I was a fool. I did not want you 
to know how much of a one I have really 


24 


The Story of Louise 

been. I repented it twenty-four hours 
after the ceremony. But enough. 
Listen: you are single; it cannot hurt 
you to help me get a divorce V’ 

The truth of what he intended to con- 
vey did not instantly dawn upon me. 

^^What do you mean V’ 

want you to make love to her, she 
knows you, she — likes you — it will be 
easy 

^^What?’’ Had I heard aright ? ^^You 
want me to make love to your wife? 
George Cadal, you are a damn — ’’ I 
didn’t finish the sentence. I sat down 
and stared into the smoldering coals. 
The dog approached me. His tail was 
between his legs. 

^^What is her name?” I asked; ^The 
name she is known by ?” 

^Touise des Chapelles.” 




III. 


The Husband of Mademoiselle 

I STAKED stupidly at my former 
friend until he turned his face to 
the fire. He had not tho slightest 
suspicion of what was passing in my 
mind. I was dumbfounded and amazed. 
I attempted several times to say some- 
thing that Avould have been nothing 
more nor less than the platitude of a 
hypocrite, — ^but for the moment I could 
barely articulate. 

The embarrassment was broken 
abruptly by Cadal. He looked upon me 
with an expression of leonine determin- 
ation. He struck a light for his cigar- 
ette and threw the match with an angry 
movement into the grate. The Prince 
of Trebizonde, getting in his way, was 
rudely pushed aside and gave a sullen 


26 


The Story of Louise 

growl. Had the dog instinctively taken 
a sudden dislike to his master’s friend? 

Cadal poured out another glass of 
brandy and water and pushed the carafe 
toward me. The action of helping my- 
self to what the Americans call a large 
^^stiff” drink relieved the uncomfortable 
tension to which I had been subjected. 
Then I felt as if I could listen to all that 
he had to say with a sense of curious 
pleasure. 

There seemed now to be no disgrace 
in knowing myself to be the lover of 
George Cadal’s wife. 

We again filled up the crystal glasses 
and the tingling that went through my 
backbone set me on fire with thoughts of 
Louise des Chapelles. 

^^Don’t let us mince matters/’ began 
Cadal. tell you again I propose to 
marry the woman I love — if there is a 
God in heaven !” 


27 


The Story of Louise 

there is a God in heaven you 
ought to be prevented/’ I retorted, ^^but 
as neither you nor I have much con- 
fidence in a Diety that is watching the 
private affairs of the terrestrial animal- 
culae, you will doubtless be allowed to 
proceed in your own way so long as you 
are not thwarted by some one who 
possesses the principles of human de- 
cency.” 

^^Then you think me indecent ?” 
do.” 

^^Suppose you fell in love with my 
present wife — ^would you still regard me 
actually so or comparatively?” 

^^Because I fall in love with a woman 
who is married is no sin in itself. If I 
permitted myself to desecrate the sane- 
ity of friendship and foul its nest, I 
would very likely be degenerate enough 
to regard your vile scheme as something 
quite plausible.” 


28 


The Story of Louise 

^^Then, because I am married to a 
woman I do not ^ove — ^who ensnared me 
when I was drunk with absinthe, am I 
to go on and on, constantly led into all 
the follies of dissipation and kill myself 
by inches because a few old grandmoth- 
ers would be shocked if I broke the fet- 
ters that a priest forged with the tongue 
of hypocrisy and deceit, and married one 
whose companionship would be a bless- 
ing? I say no — say there is a rib 
somewhere in some woman that belongs 
to me and I propose to have it/’ 

wish Adam had died with all his 
ribs,” I put in meditatively. 

don’t,” ejaculated Cadal. ^The 
gentleman who invented that story de- 
serves the thanks of the entire masculine 
gender. It gives man a good excuse and 
no woman would instinctively have it 
otherwise. But come, let us get out of 
here. That dog annoys me.” 

29 


The Story of Louise 

^^He has good morals/’ 

^^Yes, while you prevent him from 
having others.” 

can remove him. — if you say — 
where he cannot hear your diabolical 
confession.” 

^^1^0, I don’t believe he ought to be 
sent out alone with ITenriette unless it 
be with a chaperone! Let us go round 
to Le Chat Noir — there we can talk and 
not fear being overheard; every one 
there has trouble to convey to some one 
else, and when we get tired talking we 
can listen to the immoral amelioration of 
man. Some one near us will be sure to 
establish it as the chief object of 
woman.” 

^^Don’t you think, my dear Oadal,” 
said I half jestingly, ^That one of Mother 
Moreaux’s plums would tickle our pal- 
ates more agreeably?” 


30 


The Story of Louise 

said Oadal slowly, ^^peidiaps the 
Cabaret des Eefroidis 

But we drifted over where we could 
pull the tail of the cat and sat down at 
a convenient table where we might be 
served by ^Tritz/^ who was of Alsace 
Lorraine, but who could talk French like 
a native and generally passed among 
English or American visitors as the ^^real 
article’’ — to use a bit of their idiomatic 
idiocy. Fritz often used to turn his 
back as a screen when we took our sec- 
ond tumbler of cognac, and had thus 
saved us a great many francs in conse- 
quence. 

I was glad of the present opportunity. 
It is somewhat difl&cult to stab a man in 
his bowels while he is one’s guest. Here 
I was no longer a prisoner with my 
thoughts. 

I could be the virtuous defender of 
his wife’s honor if I wished ! 


31 


The Story of Louise 

At any rate I could think or talk as I 
chose. The room was filling rapidly 
with gentlemen of uncertain qualities 
and with not a few whose qualities had 
been determined by an unsuspecting 
public. There were literary men, dram- 
atists, journalists and procurers. It 
was the place of critics. There was a 
great crowd of them this night; Celine 
Marechal-Mercier had just made a hit 
in the^^Phedre’^and they were discussing 
her: the ponderous Freron, the cynical 
Ohamfort, the rodent Kivaral, the didac- 
tic Diderot, the basking Beaumar- 
chais. Moliere described them when he 
wrote : 

“II veut voir des defauts a tout ce qu’ on ecrit 

Et pense que louer n’est pas d’un bel esprit.’ 

But Theophile Gautier, who writes in 
fioriture phrases, is drinking absinthe in 
the corner and insists upon it that Mo- 
liere wrote like a pig. 


32 


The Story of Louise. • 

Oadal drank until he became emo- 
tional. But his were crocodile tears and 
I do not care for them. One may drink 
with a man and so long as the thermo- 
metrical state of intoxication remains 
the same with both of them all is well. 
Maudlin affection, heroic friendship and 
the easy purse are opened by a corru- 
gated key that there is some difficulty in 
duplicating the next day. Cadal had 
never seemed a bad fellow to me at any 
time. Blondes are seldom bold enough. 
They are simply mischievous. Strange 
that I had never noticed it, but to- 
night I didn’t like the kink in OadaPs 
beard, and his eyes seemed to be of a 
sickly blue. Perhaps it was the light 
and the smoke that gave his glance this 
strange feebleness. 

To be blunt I did not get drunk very 
easily at any time — they used to tell me 
— ^my friends along the Boulevard des 

33 


■ Tho Story of Louise 

Italiens, — that I could hold a great deal. 
The Americans have an excellent expres- 
sion for this. I do not think an actively 
minded man gets drowned in his cups 
without a struggle. When a man be- 
comes emotional in the drunken stage of 
his companionship it is better to give 
him a kick and put him to bed, else he 
will tell you all he knows about himself 
and something distressing about the 
woman he says he worships. 

When Cadal began to tell the adorable 
qualities of his new Suzette and en- 
deavored to conciliate and facilitate mat- 
ters by declaring that the limbs of Louise 
des Ohapelles were more beautiful than 
anything painted by Bougereau I had 
sense enough to appear indifferent — and 
strength enough to undergo the ordeal. 


The Fourth Afternoon. 


P UNCTUALLY at three o’clock 
on the following day I was ad- 
jnitted into the apartments of 
Louise des Chapelles. My moral con- 
science had been weakened — the will 
power had been sapped by the intoxica- 
tion of illicit love. I had defied desire^ 
but had been repulsed by brute passion. 


George Cadal was the husband of 
Louise and I, supposedly a friend, was 
her lover. I had not confessed to him I 
already loved his wife — that her lips had 
been glued to mine with our breaths 
suspended in an exquisite triumph. I 
would not admit even under the circum- 
stances that I had been a traitor to my 
friend. Neither had I promised to enter 
his wife’s boudoir in cold blood. 


The Story of Louise 

What a monstrous satire on human 
consistency ! To become his tool, as he 
wished, seemed to me the most damnable 
proposition that could emanate from the 
mouth of one’s friend, yet here I was 
looking neither to the right nor to the 
left, like an African borele that charges 
upon its victim without any feeling but 
an insatiate desire for destruction ! 

As usual I was kept waiting in the 
parlour of my new-found affinity and 
left to my own reflections for many min- 
utes that seemed to have inoculated time 
with painful palpitation. There were a 
number of pictures hanging from the 
gilded rods of the cage that were more 
or less calculated to increase my trepida- 
tion. 

At last she came in with a frou-frou 
of — God knows what — and with the 
aroma of violets that had been crushed 
in a woman’s bath. 


36 


The Story of Louise 

With the foolish coyness of the male 
lover I pretended not to hear her as she 
entered, but stood gazing out of the win- 
dow in apparent meditation. She threw 
her arms around me and I felt her warm 
breath upon my neck. The next instant 
I was looking into the depths of her 
great, beautiful eyes, with her body 
pressed against my own. The pink flush 
of her cheeks came and went like the 
flickering ray of the aurora on a mid- 
summer night. -3^ * * 

The clock of transparent marble 
struck four times in a rythmic duet with 
the raising of a gilded angel’s wings that 
surmounted it. A whole hour had gone 
by with the swiftness of an executioner’s 
sword. 

^Tn one hour more you must go,” she 
said, raising her head from my shoulder 
where it had fallen. She arose suddenly 
and in a startled manner pushed away 


37 


The Story of Louise 


the heavy brocade portieres that separ- 
ated an adjoining room. She listened a 
moment with nervous dread. thought 
I heard something/’ she said in explan- 
ation, and then with the happy smile of 
a forgotten conscience returned to my 
side on the divan. But she held away 
from me and would not allow me to put 
my arm around her. 

^^No don’t do that. I want to look at 
you — let us talk.” 

She readjusted the violets she wore 
with that easy caressing coddling that a 
woman can exercise without seeming to 
injure the most delicate of petals. 

She got up and seated herself in a 
big cushioned chair opposite me. ^^ISTow 
don’t come near me!” she put in play- 
fully. ^^You look awfully well and I 
want to see you. I am glad you do not 
wear a beard.” 

^^Why?” 


38 


The Story of Louise 

^^Because/^ 

^That’s a very good reason — isnT it 

^^Very good/’ 

^^What is the other reason V ’ 
hate them.” 

Her eyes shone like a sun-glint across 
a lapus lasuli. Her hands rested on the 
arms of the chair with a sensuous pre- 
hension. The high rounding back 
seem to grow almost animate in its sug- 
gestion of luxuriant clasp of its burden. 
Her wealth of hair in a tremendous coil 
was pushed against the blue brocade up- 
holstery in exquisite carelessness^, and 
she was incapable of realising the long- 
ing I had to caress it as she occasionally 
moved its resting place. I shall never — 
never — ^forget the rich beauty of her 
face as it appeared to me then. The 
whole fabric of her being with all its 
adornment seemed to be the incarnation 
of acute felicity ! 


39 


The Story of Louise 

Once more the clock struck — this time 
the half hour with one of the hammers 
of its sonorous chime. It caused me to 
wake from my contemplating reverie 
with the start of an apprehensive danger. 

She saw the despair on my face, but 
she laughed like women can laugh at a 
lover’s deprivation. 

^^Only half an hour more !” I said. 
^^Oome tell me something fine — some- 
thing I can remember and feel when I 
am in love! Tell me how much you 
love me.” Then I went over to her 
and sitting on one arm of the chair I 
leaned across her lap. She looked into 
my eyes with a dreamy light in her own, 
which every man thinks of when he tries 
to poetize his adulation. It is a light that 
no woman ever saw. 

^^Well, I’ll tell you something very 
fine indeed,” she said softly and brush- 
ing away the hair from my brow. 

40 


The Story of Louise 

am going to Monte Carlo tomorrow/’ 
She did not say it with the least sus- 
picion of questioning as to how I would 
receive the news. Kather was her whole 
face lighted up by a childish delight at 
the thought of it. 

I leaned back and stared at her in dis- 
may. 

^To-morrow 

^^Yes, is it not delightful, Lucien?” 

^^No, it is horrible/’ I replied ill- 
naturedly. ^^Why do you go — ^why 
should you — ^what ^hall I do ?” 

I got up and walked over to the clock. 
Damn it, the angel was getting ready to 
flap her wings again ! 

^^Why shouldn’t I go ?” she said pres- 
ently. There was a show of coquettish 
indignation. 

^^You do not love me !” 

^^Because I love Monte Carlo ?” 

^‘You are like all women. You are 


41 


The Story of Louise 

simply happy to captivate, and you love 
men only because they are not women. 
As to feeling the depth of it as we feel 
it — I deny it.’’ 

^^What do you know — how do you 
know? Come, sit down here, and look 
me straight in the eyes and say that over 
again !” 

She put her hands up to my face and 
brought it close to her own. Then she 
put her lips to mine vehemently. 
^^Now !” she exclaimed, ^^don’t talk like 
that any more, Lucien! Have I not 
given you my love — ^what more do you 
want ?” 

want you to love me as I do you. 
I do not go away from you because I 
want to enjoy something else ! I would 
not be happy unless you were with me.” 

^^You silly boy! Have I said you 
should not see me — that I intend leaving 


42 


The Story of Louise 

you? You can come with me — the 
whole world is free to you V’ 

^^Suppose I could not accompany 
you 

^^Then I would go alone — perhaps 
you would follow me.’’ 

^^Suppose I do not ?’ ’ 

^^Then I would weep over the incon- 
stancy of man.” 

^^And sit on the rocks with a red para- 
sol?” 

^^Yes, I would not have long to wait. 
It is a color that few men can withstand ; 
besides it would mask the blushes that 
would come when I think of your in- 
famy.” 

She laughed triumphantly, embraced 
me with so much affection, and reassured 
me with so much archness that I was 
ashamed of my jealousy. 

But it was dispelled as suddenly as 


43 


The Story of Louise 

the cloud darkens the summer day. She 
pointed toward the clock. 

^^In two minutes more you must go/’ 
she said. She arose and stood nervously 
before the full length pier-glass and ar- 
ranged her hair and smoothed out her 
gown. 

What had I to fear now from George 
Oadal ? She was momentarily expecting 
him. That I knew, but she did not know 
that I knew it. Why then should she 
expect me to come and go by the minute 
hand of a clock? Whj should I not 
stay and meet him? What had she to 
fear ? She did not love him. That was 
evident. She knew, further, that it was 
not likely he would make a scene. His 
confession to me was an assurance that 
there was no love lost between them. 
Perhaps she did love him in a way, and 
I was made the bone for her to gnaw 
upon in her passionate hunger ! 


44 





I J! ViHiWJ, w I PiPf Jf 


. I put my arm around her waist and 
she turned toward me. 

^^You must go now/^ she said 
quietly. DonH ask me to explain 
— sometime you will know. It is 
best for us both. I shall go to 
Monte Carlo tomorrow — I will write 
you, Lucien; believe me I am very — 
very fond of you! If you come to see 
me there after you receive my letter, I 
will explain all that you wish. For the 
present au revoir once more. * * * 

Oh, how hot your lips are — Lu- 
cien ! God ! — Go away from me 



V. 


The l^cd Parasol. 

T he Prince of Trebizonde looked 
furtively at me with his in- 
tensely human eyes when I en- 
tered my apartment late that night. 
I had dined at a little cafe where 
the wine was good and where the broiled 
mushrooms and the artichokes^ /a 
icaine were enough to make one’s 
mouth weep in anticipation. I sat at the 
old corner table for hours afterward, 
consuming cigarette after cigarette, and 
recklessly alternating various liquors. I 
finally tipped off with creme yvette^ be- 
cause it made me feel, somehow, nearer 
to the woman under whose spell I was 
now making a fool of myself. Then I 


46 


The Story of Louise 

went home with an unsteady gait and a 
jealous passion. 

I turned up the lamp until it flamed 
into smoke, and tumbled into my great 
grandfather’s chair in a manner that 
would have shocked that old gentleman. 
Perhaps, however, my imbecility on this 
occasion was no greater than his own 
might have frequently been. I think we 
sometimes give too much credit to our 
ancestors. I was aroused at length by 
the penetrating odor of burning oil and a 
whine of canine impatience, that was 
doubtless uttered in logical disgust. 

Away with that fool of a savant who 
declares that dogs have only instinct and 
not a reasoning faculty ! That conven- 
ient term is the shallow application of a 
tea-kettle philosopher. I fully believe 
that the Prince was not only endowed 
with reasoning intelligence, but that his 
perceptive faculties were keener than is 

47 


The Story of Louise 

generally supposed possible in animals. 
Scent, sight and hearing we know are 
more acute in a dog than in a man. 
Why then should we declare that those 
things we know not of in human beings 
are totally absent in the dog ? 

This is digression — ^but then you will 
remember that I warned you at the very 
start that this is not to be a work of 
fiction. It is an autobiographical story 
and I have the privilege of expressing 
all my refiections as I go along. Perhaps 
later on you will perceive more clearly 
why I so zealously perform what you 
may now consider a work of supereroga- 
tion. 

I had reached that maudlin state 
which carries with it ineffable conceit of 
one’s own importance and martyrdom, 
and the possibility of returning to pris- 
tine glory. Whether the Prince wit- 
nessed the dawning of this I do not 

48 





The Story of Louise 

know, but he showed a welcome com- 
panionship by apparently shedding a few 
tears for me and putting them away with 
a howl. 

I took a glass of brandy because I 
thought it would sober me up — straight- 
en out my nerves — and allowed the dog 
to place his big soft paws on my knees 
where we could converse comfortably. 

^Trince/’ said I, ^^you were born 
among the monks, way up amid the 
Alpine mountains. Your father saved 
the lives of many people. Doubtless 
you are proud of that — but you never 
mention it. Yet the monks did not know 
anything about love, at least the kind 
that I mean, and you don^t either. I 
can’t expect you to ofEer me any conso- 
lation. I simply want you to stand by 
me. . Will you?” 

Prince looked assent, and wagged his 
tail. 

^‘What do you think of me anyway — 


49 


The Story of ix)uise 

that I am a fool, Prince ? Do you blame 

mer 

He made no reply; it was plain that 
he could think of nothing to offer in ex- 
tenuation. 

see’’ — I said to him further — ^That 
whatever may be the difference in our 
opinions you do not wish to commit your- 
self. Well perhaps it is wiser if we went 
to bed and slept over it.” 

An intervening day of misery. An- 
other one of idiotic despair. It seems 
but yesterday as I look back upon this 
period of my unhappiest incubation. I 
do not think that my conduct differed 
much from many others in a similar 
position. Men are not reposeful in love 
— except those beef-eaters across the 
channel. They do not love like the 
Frenchmen, nor yet like an American. 
Perhaps there are more sinews in beef 
than in doubtful gibelotte de lapin^ and 


50 


The Story of Louise 


more food in all than in petit bleu, I 
think it is too much dirty baker’s bread, 
poultry with painted legs, and wine of 
logwood that fouls the Seine with sui- 
cides. An American once told me that 
during the French revolution it was not 
blood but claret that ran in the gutters — 
that our veins flowed with the juice of 
rotten grapes, and it was their fermenta- 
tion that the Frenchmen called love. 

George Cadal had disappeared from 
Paris, at least from his haunts. He had, 
a short while since, given up his apart- 
ment in the Faubourg St. Germain, and 
I had not ascertained from him his new 
address, so little had I cared. That he 
did not reside with the woman he 
claimed to be his wife I had felt almost 
certain. Yet — and it came over me sud- 
denly in a sweat of excitement — he must 
have visited her regularly, for had I not 
been compelled each day to flee from her 

51 


The Story of Louise 


at the expected hour of his coming ? If 
it were not he — ^who was it? It was, at 
least, not very likely he had journeyed 
with her to Monte Carlo. 

I could wait no longer. I determined 
that I would follow her. 

I did not find my letters in the usual 
place when I got out of my great grand- 
father’s bed the next morning. Hen- 
riette brought them to me with the coffee 
and looked at me anxiously as I took up 
one that perfumed the room and bore a 
huge violet seal. 

This is what I read : 

Dearest : 

You thoug-ht me brutal— everything that you 
ought not to, diidn’t you, Lucien? I felt that 
I had to go away from Paris, for a few days at 
least. I was overcome by much that troubled 
me and I needed the rest— the sunshine and. the 
peace of it here, where I could look off on the 
sea and the mountains and sit listlessly on the 
terrace and hear the blissful music and see 
sitrange people. No one came with me but 
Mimd and 'Marie, and she has nothing else to do 
but carry Mimi’s blanket and my parasol, 


52 


Tho Story of Louise 


while 'Mlmi leads me by a ribbon rein and 
looks at the doves when they come down to be 
fed, and doesn’t understand it all. They gave 
me an adorable room in the hotel where I can 
see the sun rise if I wish, and I actually saw it 
this moirning! Something awakened me early 
and I sat by the window for a long while gaz- 
ing out at the Casino and the cliff of Monaco 
and the red roofs, and the castles, and away, 
still further off, at the reat rocky shore of the 
Italian coast. You see I can be very romantic 
when I choose. iLucien, and very good too! 
Would you believe it I really thought of 'God 
this morning? I couldn’t help it. It may seem 
wicked, but I dad. While I was thinking of His 
beneficence I saw a figure leaning against one 
of the balustrades that seemed very familiar. 
I thought it was someone I did not care about 
—George Cadal— do you ever see him now? But 
it turned out to be some other being entirely 
whom I knew quite as well. Wias not that ex- 
traordinary? It was a young man I met last 
year at Tirouvllle, and again in the winter at 
Madame Bruton’s. You shall kniow him some‘- 
time. I would like all my friends to meet each 
other. Wouldn’t that be jolly? It would be 
comfortable at any rate. We had an early 
breakfast— you know— and at ten o’clock I was 
out on the terrace among the cactus plants and 
flowers watching the yachts in the heavenly 
blue harbor. Of course I seemed surprised when 
Monsieur 'Bat tin came up to me. In a few min- 
utes he told me everything there was in the 
world to know and a little bit more, and would 


53 



The Story of Louise 


have held my hand if I had let him. His audac- 
ity is different from yours, Lucien! I cannot 
explain exactly why but I don’t think you 
would get on well together. But he has a 
yacht— the divinest thing! It is all white and 
gold, and I can see it now lying just below me 
as I write. I can forgive him for almost 
anything as long as he owns that. It is called 
the “Gadfly”— isn’t it odd? ‘Everyone stared at 
us so— he’s very distinguished looking and I 
flatter myself that miy costume was somewhat 
ravishing. Perhaps it was my Ibig red parasol! 

Tomorrow we are going to sail on his yacht— 
of course Marie shall accompany me, and Mimi, 
and I dare say there will be others. The day 
after I will look for you, Lucien. You must 
come! As I begin to think of you my heart 
beats wildly and my cheeks must be flushing— I 
feel that I would faint if I touched your hand! 

'Good bye— I throw a kiss to you! 

L. C.^; 

As I read the last lines the missive 
seemed to carry with it an electric volt- 
age as intense as if Louise des Chapelles 
had drawn me against her breast. But 
I hated her too ! The insidious, devilish 
archness of her letter; her ingenious 
parentheses ! 

Monsieur Battin ! As if I didn’t 


54 


The Story of Louise 

know the most profound little libertine 
in all Paris. How obtuse Louise thought 
I must be ! And Mimi ? The infernal 
little slut ! And Marie ? The stool 
pigeon ! 

That red parasol ! The beacon light 
for every roue in Monaco. God ! It 
drove me mad. I loved her well enough 
to stab her ! 

My coffee had grown cold. I rang the 
bell for Henriette. 

^^What the devil ails you, my good 
woman, that you boil my coffee over 
icer 

^^Monsieur, it was steaming! You 
have waited an hour 

So I had — thinking. 

She refilled the urn, and as the aro- 
matic liquid bubbled up into the glass 
globe, George Cadal entered — ^pale, blue 
about the nostrils; eyes dilated. He 
threw off a cape coat and I saw that he 

55 


The Story of Louise 


still had on his evening dress of the 
night, rumpled and rusty looking in the 
broad light of the morning. On his shirt 
were a number of green spots. His 
fingers were soiled a chrome yellow; the 
nail of his index finger was black. Yet 
he lighted a cigarette without my per- 
mission and inhaled the smoke of it 
with, disgusting delight. If there is any- 
thing I detest it is the smell of a cigar- 
ette at the breakfast hour. I thought to 
do away with the temporary nuisance by 
offering my bedraggled guest a cup of 
coffee. But he only sipped it between 
whiffs of nauseous volume, almost spill- 
ing it from his trembling hand. Sud- 
denly he said with an air of desperate 
determination : am going to call on 

my wife — ^you will accompany me?’’ 

am afraid she has not completed 
her toilet so early,” I replied carelessly. 

^^So much the better. You will then 


56 


The Story of Louise 

have the privilege of seeing how charm- 
ing she is in neglige?'* 

^Terhaps V’ 

^^She is in need of no adornment at 
all, Lucien; I can assure you of that, and 
what is strange she knows it ! The 
other day she begged me to take her to 
the Fiji Islands where she would be ap- 
preciated 

^^Why don’t you 

'T am going to Monte Carlo, instead.” 

^^With her?” 

^^With Louise?” 

^‘Yes — she would be an excellent 
croupier^ would she not ?” 

^^You’re a beast, Lucien!” 

I was thinking the same of him, and 
we looked at each other curiously, 

^^No, I will leave you here in Paris,” 
he resumed. will show you the way, 
then you can go to the Louvre together 
and study archaeology in the day time. 

57 


The Story of Louise 

In the evening you can go — to the 
devil.’’ 

^^Thanks. And you?” 
will go there too.” 

He called a fiacre when we reached 
the thoroughfare, and very shortly 
halted before the door of the concierge 
whose face was already familiar to me. 
She was a fat, ungainly creature with a 
ponderous top that could battle with 
any weather, and her pelvic development 
was of enormous beam. She had a very 
red face and a pair of eyes like a cat. I 
think she could see better in the dark 
than in the light of day. She smelled 
of garlic much of the time and of cognac 
the rest of it. 

^^You are early this pretty morning. 
Monsieur Cadal,” she said with a grim 
smile at me. 

went out to hear the birds sing.” 

^^They sing so sweetly in the pretty 


58 


The Story of Louise 


mornings/’ she said as she waddled over 
to an old mahogany box where she kept 
letters that had been confided to her. 
^^Yes the little birds go home to their 
nests early — and they sing all the time 
— sing all the time! Ah, here it is!” 
She handed Cadal a small package. He 
opened it before me and I saw it con- 
tained a key and a bank book. There 
were also a few lines on a bit of paper. 
Cadal read them quickly and turned 
upon the concierge angrily. ^^When 
did Madame go?” 

^^The day before yesterday,” she re- 
plied with malicious mischief in her 
eyes. ^She had M’lle Marie and the lit- 
tle dog — and yes when they reached the 
door a very fine young gentleman met 
her just in time to carry her red parasol, 
then they all went off together ! Oh, he 
was very fine indeed !” 

She took a large pinch of snuff after 


59 


The Story of Louise. 


saying this, and we heard her sneezing 
until we passed through the doorway of 
the apartment that contained the divan 
of blue brocade. 


VI. 




Don Escamillo. 

T HEIST followed two days of idle 
and jealous suspense, the chron- 
icling of which I shall not at- 
tempt in detail. Cadal had gone 
to Trouville with joyous anticipation, 
and impressed upon me that I could 
have all the freedom I wished if I would 
go to Monte Carlo and try the change of 
scene — that it would do me quite as 
much benefit as the baths of Carlsbad. 
He hoped for everything and I promised 
him, in an outwardly perfunctory way, 
that I would perhaps take his advice. 
In compliance with a telegram from her 
I resolved to go to Monte Carlo at once. 
I also endeavored to wear the philoso- 
pher's cap and pretend that Battin, or no 


61 


The Story of Louise 


Battiuj I would own Louise in spite of 
him; that I would meet him, if needs be, 
in the most agreeable fashion I could as- 
sume. So thinking I set out. 

Like the fool I was (in common with 
most men) I half fancied I would find 
her waiting for me when the train drew 
up at the Monaco station. Why not? 
It was a superb morning; other women 
were at the platform — or was it because 
there were too many red parasols ! But 
I was not to be so fortunate. Even an 
hour later she kept me waiting full 
twenty minutes in suspense before she 
was ready to receive me in a well devised 
private parlor that was connected with 
her boudoir. I was ready to be angrily 
jealous with her, and conjured many 
causes for expressing displeasure at her 
varying equivoque. 

But oh, the radiance of that charm, 
when at last she came in, and threw her 


62 


The Story of Louise 

cool white arms around me while I 
stranded kisses upon those lips so like 
coral reefs ! 

Instantly I felt as I have fancied 
drowning men feel — a sinking into a 
sweet nothingness. To me the relief Avas 
the drowsiness of sensuous sleep. Hot 
until then did I know how tired the last 
few days had made me. 

It was yet early and the air was full 
of fragrance from off the lands after a 
gentle summer rain. 

^^We will go over to the Casino, Lu- 
cien/’ she said. ^^We can sit down there 
and talk about everything. I have so 
much to tell you. Did you get my 
letter 

She turned toward me after opening 
a drawer in an escritoire as she uttered 
this interrogatory, with a gentle naivete 
that wholly disarmed me. 


The Story of Louise 

^^Did you not think it very nice V’ she 
went on. 

^^The last few lines brought me here 
— but who the deuce is Battin?’^ 

^^Oh you will like him, I am quite 
sure. He has been very kind — his yacht 
is simply divine!’’ 

^^That is why you like him ?” 

^^Why — ^yes, you silly boy. Most 
women like men for what they can do 
for them — and to make fools of them. 
You see I know my sex pretty well — 
don’t I, Lucien? There, now I am 
ready; let’s go along. We won’t even 
let Mimi see us. He is out with Marie. 
I think he is in love with another — dog. 
It’s a lady-dog, Lucien, and I call her 
Mademoiselle Sara — she has such red 
hair and looks so painted around the 
eyes 1” 

The Metropole was full of people; a 
cosmopolitan gathering of creatures 

64 


The Story of Louise 


every one of whom was singular; queer 
to a more or less degree. As no one is 
perfectly healthy in this world it is a 
sequential axiom that every one is more 
or less insane. 

Schopenhauer says I am a degenerate 
and I do not believe that I stand alone 
in my habitat by many odds. I suppose 
I am considered a degenerate because I 
believe it is a less sin for a man to break 
the seventh commandment than it is for 
a woman. You cannot adulterate a man. 

The sun had climbed over the east- 
ward hillsj and it was shining brightly 
upon the material and mental battle- 
ments of Monte Carlo, and as we walked 
along we were one of a jumble of a Per- 
sian Parsee, a Chinese Mandarin, a Mor- 
occo Panjandrum, a wire-whiskered 
Eussian, a Turk, a Pole, and any number 
of peculiarly attired Americans — -one of 
the latter wore a great white coat and an 
65 


Tlie Story of Louise 


old white slouch hat, and whiskers 
fringed his chin. I was told that he was 
a celebrated journalist from New York 
who drove many young men to the wilds 
of Chicago by his advice. 

We found a settee on the seaward side 
of the Terrace close to the balustrade, 
where the music in the Pagoda was not 
too near and where we could look upon 
the Mediterranean, or by turning around 
could watch the people who were trying 
to represent the gaiety of nations. But 
there was a wall of flowers also near us 
and it was a sufScient screen should I 
wish to hold the hand of Louise. 

No sooner were we comfortably seated 
than she began to chatter like a little 
magpie. 

^^Now, Lucien,’’ she at length ob- 
served, don’t want you to act like a 
silly boy. It is too gloriously magnifi- 
cent here to be filled up by jealousy. Let 


66 


The Story of Louise 


us try and be really respectable. You 
know I love you, and its very nice to 
have you at my side.’’ 

^^TJntil some one else comes along,” 
said I, squeezing her hand until the 
snake ring made her cry out. 

^^No. No one — positively not — ex- 
cept perhaps Monsieur Battin. He is 
very patient — the same as Monsieur Job, 
— and he’s so fond of Mimi. When I 
get tired talking to him I send him away. 
But you, really Lucien, I like in such 
a different manner — don’t you compre- 
hend? You know a woman must com- 
mand at least two men, one her lover and 
the other her friend.” 

^^Andl— ?” 

^^Monsieur Battin is a friend.” 

^^And George Oadal?” I asked look- 
ing steadily into the lapis lasuli depths. 

She never wavered. She hesitated but 
did not avert my gaze. 


Tlie Story of Louise 

see but little of him.’’ 

^^But you see him more frequently 
than you do Battin.” 

^^Why do you question me thus, 
Lucien? Can you not let well enough 
alone?” 

^^It isn’t well enough! I am crazed 
by suspicion! Don’t you see that I 
stand ready to be your slave — that I love, 
love you ? I am tormented by doubt ; I 
am despairing ! I know more than you 
tell me, but I want you to open your 
heart to me — it should not be difficult 
and we would understand so much bet- 
ter!” 

^^And you came here to say all this to 
me?” She got up quickly, her eyes 
flashing down upon me, and stamped her 
foot impatiently. am going back to 
the hotel.” She turned and started to 
leave me. I was quickly by her side. 

^^Don’t go like that, dear,” I said. 

68 


The Story of Louise 

^^There are some devils watching us: 
they will think we are quarreling/^ 

are! I don’t like you now — 
please go away !” 

But I didn’t go away. I walked along 
at her side while she tried to hide her 
face from me by the torchon hangings 
of her parasol. Finally she burst out 
with a merry laugh and said ^^Lucien, I 
am not angry now. You must leave me 
at the hotel ; I have — letters to write and 
something to do with Marie. You may 
come and see me at three o’clock.” 

^^Not before?” 

^^Not until three, Lucien. Don’t you 
think I am good ?” A pink tinge spread 
over her face and her eyes shone lus- 
trously at me. I suppressed my impet- 
uosity and left her. Then I sauntered 
back to the Casino and tried to divert 
myself. I staked a few louis at the tables 
and won. I doubled the amount and 


The Story of Louise 

won again. I trebled it and still won. 
There was a crush at another table of 
roulette. I elbowed my way in. I 
staked all I had won on a single number 
— the little red ball rolled around and 
round and finally tumbled into the notch. 
Again it did the same. The crowd now 
directed their eyes upon me and a little 
Spaniard with a fiery moustache glared 
at me. 

^^Twenty louis that you lose !’’ he 
squeaked. 

A moment later the little red ball 
doubled my stack, and the Spaniard 
with an oath paid me his bet. 

Then I went out on the terrace for 
fresh air, and the Spaniard followed me. 
He dogged my heels as I circled the ter- 
race and at length I turned upon him. 
^^What do you want V’ I asked angrily. 
^^To give you my card. Monsieur ! 
You may need it!’^ 


70 


The Story of Louise 

^^You are impertinent.’’ 

^^Carrambo ! Possibly ! Never mind!” 
He handed it to me and on it I read the 
name : ^^Don Escamillo.” 

I started to tear it in halves and fling 
them into his face. Evidently he divined 
my intention for he siezed my arm. 

^^Monsieur you are a lucky man. The 
blood of a dozen toreadors flow in my 
veins ! It is not that I mourn my twenty 
louis; it is that I admire — that I raise my 
eyes to heaven when I see you! You 
are greater than all the toreadors put to- 
gether — for you are lucky in both cards 
and love !” 

^ ^Enough of this !” I exclaimed edging 
away from him in the crowd of people 
who were now in mid-day promenade. 
But he followed me and fearing lest I 
might create a scene unless I put an end 
to him quietly, I stopped short. ^^What 
do you want of me? I don’t wish to 

71 


The Story of Louise 

know you — ^you are insane ! Leave me 
instantly or else I will call a gen- 
d’arme 

He did not seem at least inclined to be 
frustrated. He glared at me with the 
eyes of a desperate animal that has been 
shot. 

We walked over to the balustrade to- 
gether. 

^^Look off there he said pointing to 
the blue water. ^Ts it not the color of 
her eyes? Yes? Look off there! Are 
not those blossoms the color of her 
cheeks? Yes? Are her teeth not like 
the pearls that are cast before swine? 
Yes? Yes? Come?’’ 

^^What do you mean ?” 

^^Look and see what is inscribed on 
the inside of her ring — ^then ask me I” 

Before I had time enough to gather a 
sufficient reply Don Escamillo, with a 
waive of his cigarette-stained hand, had« 

72 






LOUISE. 


The Story of Louise 


fled precipitately down a tiled stairway 
as if he intended to plunge into the sea. 
I leaned over the balustrade that I might 
get a glimpse of him, but I saw nothing 
but the white wings of the ^^Gadfly’^^as 
they flapped back against the gentle 
breeze as she came to anchor. 


VII. 

The Ride to Mentone. 

I DO not wish to tell you, Monsieur 
and Madame, all the episodes of 
my daily life at this time. Some 
things, naturally affected me strong- 
ly, and now when I look back upon 
all of my experiences it is difficult 
for me to select such portions that 
are necessary in telling my story, 
lest I appear entirely too loquacious. 
If I belonged to that school of ^‘real- 
ists’’ such as M. Ibsen, M. Zola, 
and M. Howells, — particularly the lat- 
ter — I would doubtless furnish you with 
a great many words about nothing at all, 
but w^hich arranged according to the 
etymological ideas and ethnographical 
jdiilosophy of the author, are beheld with 
admiration by their followers. Yet I do 
not wish to appear wholly ignorant of 

74 


The Story of Louise ^ 

the values of these gentlemen in liter- 
ature, and perhaps my careful study of 
them may result in an appearance of 
emulation. I hope not; I would prefer 
that what I have to tell should be inter- 
esting rather than literary imbibition. 
Then again I have not the time left me. 
I cannot now be prodigal with the min- 
utes. 

If I could but hold back the hands on 
the clock and make time stand still! 

As I write this the ticking seems to 
grow louder and faster. Has the clock 
a fever — a pulse? Will it beat faster 
and faster in unison with my heart, and 
then stop suddenly, and be the end of 
everything ? 

What in the devil does this mean ? 
— my fingers seem to stiffen around 
my pen, and there are strange globules 
floating before my eyes. There is one — 
oh, what a color — what a yellow disc and 


The Story of Louise 

what a halo of green it has ! Has the 
clock stopped? I cannot hear it — has 
my heart — how black it is ! 

4f * * * * 

It was weakness to be undone like 
that. I never swooned before. I prom- 
ise myself that it shall never happen 
again, come what may, and you will find 
me brave to my bitterest end. 

•jf * * * * 

I^^o thing occurred to mar the happi- 
ness of that afternoon. We dined to- 
gether in a little white hotel, and had 
some fish that was cooked well enough to 
perpetuate its coloring in a picture. 
Then we had Chateau Yquem, and after 
that in the mild evening air with gorg- 
eous moonbeams on the Mediterranean 
we sauntered along the cliffs and through 
the gardens and thence to the Casino, 
whither everyone was drifting. The 

76 


V 


The Story of Louise 


painted woman smoking a cigarette, who 
with brazen eyes scrutinizes each face 
that passes the vestibule of the marble- 
pillared hall, smiled upon me so famil- 
iarly as we entered, that even Louise no- 
ticed it and expressed a subtle word of 
disdain. But I was glad of it; it was the 
first little evidence of jealousy, and my 
heart bounded with proprietary delight. 
She entertained me with her bright ob- 
servation and used ingenious words to 
qualify her opinion of the various women 
we encountered in the crowds around the 
tables. Some of them with their bony 
necks seemed to be shedding their skins, 
and others in their greasy flesh did not 
notice the detestation of the men who 
were forced in too near a contact. 

Louise ventured a few napoleons at 
the trente-et-quarantei^\Q and flushed 
like the opening rose when she took the 
gold pieces that had doubled her wager. 

77 


The Story of Louise 

When she tried it again and lost she 
declared that it was all a swindle ! 

At eleven o’clock, when the croup- 
iers had ceased shrugging their should 
ers, we went out into the sweet air 
and the radiant moonlight and chatted 
lightly over cooling drinks. It had 
been all very happy. Neither of us 
had said anything disagreeable, and the 
future seemed to be full of unalloyed 
bliss. She never once mentioned Battin, 
and I was careful not to suggest his 
name. I saw her contemplate the ^^Gad- 
fly” at anchor, but she turned from it 
with indifference. 

Finally I left Louise to her embroid- 
ered pillows after a respectful parting 
and I went to my own hotel, not losing 
the ten kisses she threw at me from her 
window under which I passed. 

The next afternoon I called for her 
with a coupe and an intelligent driver^ 
78 


The Story of Louise 

She demurred a little bit at the closeness 
of the vehicle, and possibly with good 
reason, as her elaborate but tasteful 
toilet, was worth the showing, — the par- 
donable pride of a beautiful woman. 
But as the drive to Mentone was to be a 
long one, and as there was the possibility 
of a shower later on, she accepted the 
reason with a very good grace indeed and 
said charmingly as I helped her in: 
^^Anyway, Lucien, this is much more 
private, isn’t it? We can have a de- 
licious But you must be very 
careful — won’t you ?” 

Her eyes shone, glittering with the 
harmless mischief that many women 
seem to premeditate in crime with their 
lover. Even then, after so many days 
of life in her basking she was an enigma 
to me. 

We had barely started on the drive 
when we stopped at a little hotel in 


79 


The Story of Louise 

Monaco called the ^‘Belle-Vue.’’ We 
went into the garden for a bit of lunch- 
eon, as neither of us had eaten anything 
since breakfast. We sat in a garden of 
fig trees, but not for long. From thence 
on the road was of continuous beauty, 
cut in the face of a mountain, the close 
heights of which were covered by fig, fir 
and juniper trees. Intermingled, the en- 
phorbia plant grew in enormous splen- 
dor. 

It is all painted on my memory as 
if but yesterday. Louise overflowed 
with the enthusiasm of a child in seeing 
new things, and was constantly exclaim- 
ing with delight. It was this seemingly 
honest quality within her that fed my 
mind — as artfully as one would distend 
tthe liver of geese. 

Along on the steep slope of terraces on 
the side of the road leading down to the 
sea, was a forest of carab and olive trees 


The Story of Louise 

with wierdly gnarled trunks. Then we 
passed by the grotto of Veille, where a 
young woman once plunged into the sea 
for the love of the Duke of York, who 
lay dying in Monaco. 

The legend drew forth Louise’s inter- 
est. ^^Ah, Lucien,” she said, ^^do you 
think you could ever love me that way ?” 

^^Not to drown myself,” I said. 

Would you not want to die — if I 
did?” 

dearest, I would want to live and 
build in your memory !” 

^^But you would fall in love with some 
one else.” 

^^Never!” 

And then we looked at each other and 
casting a shy glance out on the road at 
either side to be a sure that we were un- 
observed, she slid one arm around me 
and pressed my lips to hers. Then we 
sat back restfully. Never did she look 


81 


The Story of Louise 


so beautiful, and if I thought uncomfort- 
ably of Cadal, of Battin, of the insinuat- 
ing deviltry of the concierge — put 
them all aside, determined not to seek 
my own destruction. 

We passed the little town of Eocca- 
bruna on the hill, just half way to Men- 
tone. A mass of dirty children howled 
at us and clambered around the carriage 
and thought perhaps we belonged to 
some royal family whose coat of arms 
might have been found emblazoned on 
the red parasol, the ivory of which pro- 
jected out the window. But Louise 
laughed merrily and soon we lost them 
from the view we now had, which lay 
about us in unutterable grandeur as we 
came in sight of Mentone with its two 
semi-circles in the sea, and sheltered in 
by high rocks. The town sloped on a 
hill of the Borrigo valley, and the Eue 
St. Michael continued through as the 

82 


The Story of Louise 


Imperial Koad from Nice to Genoa. 
How often have I thought of that white 
clean pathway since then! Do not ac- 
cuse me of writing a tourist’s guide. 
Perhaps some time your travels may be 
directed over this romantic route and you 
will find, among other legends of the 
vicinage, the story of Louise. But you 
must have your drive in late winter when 
the ground is covered with violets. 

We went into a little bazaar in the 
Kue St. Michael. It dazzled us with its 
trinkets, but alas, they did not appeal to 
such fancies as ours. But in a jeweler’s 
window we espied a gem, costly, extrava- 
gant, but one night’s play at the roulette 
table would pay for it — so why not ? 

I put it on Louise’s finger. It con- 
trasted in startling brilliancy with the 
snake ring, but there was no room for 
it. 


83 


The Story of Louise 

^^You must put it on another finger/^ 
I suggested. I meant the diamond. 

^^Oh, no, Lucien, I must keep that 
there/’ she replied, alluding to the snake 
ring that was on the third finger of the 
left hand. Then I saw that I had made 
a mistake. The shop keeper stood watch- 
ing us in that obtuse way that most 
tradesmen have. Why will they never 
have tact? A tradesman deserves no 
place in society. 

^‘You must put the diamond there — 
if you love me,” I said in an undertone, 
taking hold of her hand nearest her 
heart. Her glove was off, and as I recall 
that instant touch of her white, beauti- 
ful fiesh, I grieve eA^en now. But she 
withdrew it quickly and exclaimed im- 
petuously, with virtuous impatience and 
with flashing eyes: ^^Get me that ring, 
Lucien! I want it!” 

She placed it back in its blue velvet 

84 


The Story of Louise 

box, and held it as a child would a cap- 
tured toy. 

‘^How much?” I said to the jeweler. 

He was an old man with repellant 
eyes and a watery nose. 

^Tive thousand francs, Monsieur, and 
not one sou less — not one sou !” 

will give you one sou more than 
your price, for your damned imperti- 
nence !” I returned hastily. 

As we seated ourselves in the carriage, 
I saw Don Escamillo in the opposite 
doorway idly puffing a cigarette. 


VIII. 

“Pour Quoi?” 


L OUISE’S eyes may have rested 
a moment upon the ferocious 
little gentleman from Spain as 
she resumed her seat in the carriage, but 
I saw no evidence of it. She looked out 
of the window in a careless manner as 
she arranged her perfumed drapery, but 
there was no sign of recognition, and he 
made no movement to attract our atten- 
tion. As we sped away from the town, 
and were again on the road, I was elec- 
trified by a hand nervously bearing upon 
my knee. Louise half turned and looked 
into my eyes. 

There was a mantle of silk and fur 
lying at the bottom of the carriage 
where Louise had tossed it. I picked it 
up and drew it over us so that I 
might conceal her hand within my own. 

86 


The Story of Louise 

To be sure we were quite unobserved, 
even by the Jehu who drove us, but 
somehow or other one prefers to do such 
things under cover. Perhaps we are 
afraid that the spirit of our last dead 
friend may be watching us. 

believe you really love me, Lu- 
cien!’’ she said after a silence. Her 
breath was hot and her cheeks were 
spread with a pink flush, 

“I am madly in love with you, Lou- 
ise,” I answered tremulously, and con- 
vulsively pressing her hand. simply 
cannot live without you !” 

^^But you must, dearest. At least a 
part of the time. You must not be a 
foolish boy. I won’t even like you if 
you — if you worry me.” 

Worry you?” 

^^Don’t you think it worries me to see 
yon so iealous, so suspicious ?” 


87 


The Story of Louise 


^^But that is because I love you !” 
don’t like that kind of love — at 
least now. You must take me as you 
found me. Before we knew each other 
you were really happier, but now you 
make yourself continually uncomfort- 
able ! Think ! I am just the same as I 
was then, I must have my friends — 
must do as I have done; you cannot ex- 
pect me to change myself because I have 
known you a few days !” 

I put my arm around her waist. She 
was annoyed for a moment. She looked 
askance at the driver, and out on to the 
roadway. 

don’t expect you to change,” I 
went on, ^^but I love you, and loving 
you I want you, and I want you more ! 
Unless you give me what I want how can 
I help being jealous ?” 

^‘Then I will not let you love me at 
all. I must be perfectly free! Don’t 


88 


The Story of Louise 

you see that I don’t ask you the ques- 
tions that you do of me 

^^You know I think of no one else but 
you.” 

know you think so. I simply con- 
tent myself with whatever happiness you 
give me. If you should tire of me I 
would be philosophical, as every woman 
would be if ever she expects to be happy 
at all. You belong to a very strange 
sex, Lucien ! No woman understands its 
ridiculous assumption, much less its ut- 
ter selfishness.” 

^Tt is the woman who is selfish. She 
thinks of nothing but her own happi- 
ness.” 

^^That is, of her lover’s, because she 
knows that his first and greatest desire 
is, if he truly loves her, to see her 
happy!” 

“Well, that is one way of putting it, 
dearest, isn’t it?” I leaned over and 


89 


TLe Story of Louise 


kissed her. She gave a merry laugh, 
and no one I ever knew in all the world 
could laugh in the fascinating way she 
could. Then she gazed at me with a 
mystified, questioning scrutiny, while I 
was looking unutterable things. 

Suddenly she cried out with delight 
as her eyes fell upon a clump of lux- 
urious verdure that overhung a jut- 
ting turn in the road. Knowing all I 
did know of her; knowing what she was, 
nevertheless I could not bring myseH 
to think she was anything else but what 
she appeared to be then — an imdesign- 
ing and virtuous woman. I remember 
as if it were but yesterday how I search- 
ed her face, how I noted the expanse be- 
tween her eyes, and how transparent and 
unlined was her forehead. It bore not 
the slightest suspicion of care. Around 
the brows, and back of the lids, the skin 

90 


Tlie Story of Louise 

was as velvety as that of a new born 
babe. 

I thought of it then, as I have often 
thought of it since, how little need a 
woman indicate by her face, and how 
great a tell-tale it can be if she so wishes 
it ! Women are more successful in read- 
ing the minds of men, because we poor 
devils have neither been trained or 
taught those subtle methods of fascina- 
tion. The youngest female brat prac- 
tices the art of coquetry before her doll’s 
mirror, whilst she is admiringly watched 
with careful solicitude by an experi- 
enced mother. 

But what is the use of this diatribe? 
The man never lived, and never will 
live, who could solve the idiosyncracies 
of a woman. She always claims to 
know men. Perhaps she does. But that 
is not their superior perspicacity. Man 
knows a dog; woman knows a cat, and 

91 


The Story of Louise 

in each knowledge each is superior. Wo- 
men, like cats, will obey the mandates 
of reason when they want to, but not 
when you ask them to. A dog differs 
from a cat inasmuch as it obeys because 
it is mutually agreeable. After a cat 
has lived with a woman for any length 
of time, the cat becomes innoculated 
and forthwith laughs or spits according 
to its companionship. If you find a com- 
placent cat, you are safe in marrying its 
mistress. After that you should dis- 
charge the cat. 

Still, perhaps as I am at present situ- 
ated — as I pen these words — I see 
through the wrong spectacles. God 
knows why I am inclined to write as I 
do! What will it matter one way or 
another ? 

The late afternoon could not have 
been more superb. Louise became ec- 

92 


The Story of Louise 


static, pleasantly voluble, and prattled 
lines from dead poets, and held up my ig- 
norance when I confessed that I had not 
read any book with the sense that she 
did. Yet I liked to listen to her wisdom 
spread out in loquacious observation, for 
I loved her, and she never spoke that she 
didnH breathe so that I could feel the 
warm air fresh from her vitals. When 
she looked out upon the great reaches of 
the Mediterranean, I told her it gave 
me acute delight to compare the glisten 
of her eyes with the blue of the sea. 
She gave me a little coo, and a nearer 
nestling with the back of her shoulders 
against mine, so I could feast upon the 
nape of her neck, where silken curls 
assembled like the voluted congeries of 
an Ionic capital. 

The desire for absolute possession was 
ever uppermost in my mind; I was mor- 
bid and could not resist an impulse in 

93 


The Story of Louise 


spite of the supreme contentment that I 
felt I ought to feel. I had no cause 
whatever to be jealous of George Cadal ! 
Yet I was so, even more than I was of 
Battin. I would marry her in spite of 
that little wretch. I was not the Count 
of Monte Cristo — neither was Cadal. 
His income did not exceed twenty thous- 
and francs. I had nearly that, and was 
frequently lucky at cards. Louise must 
be spending at least fifty thousand. They 
grew in her garden. It never disturbed 
her when I wasted mine. I could hardly 
expect her to live within my pittance 
even if she did give herself wholly up to 
me. 

All this I contemplated as I felt her 
j body against my own and watched her 
beaming face as we sped along on that 
drive back from Mentone. Finally I 
said to her abruptly, ^‘Louise, I want you 
to promise this evening to me 

94 


The Story of Louise 

She turned her eyes toward mine play- 
fully. ^‘You shall have it, Lucien. You 
have been so good today that I will re- 
ward you. Don’t you think I am nice 

^‘Adorable!” I answered. ^^But for 
how long will it be?” 

^^You greedy boy! Until eleven 
o’clock.” 

I should have been satisfied by this, 
but I was not. 

^^And then ?” I went on. 

shall retire and dream of you.” 

^^But I will not go away. I will stay 
and protect you from such a night- 
mare.” 

^^Don’t be foolish, Lucien. We must 
observe some propriety, and, besides, I 
will be tired.” 

^^Are you tired now ?” 

^^Not in the least.” 

^^And so you arrange to be fatigued 
by the hands of the clock ?” 

95 


The Story of Louise 


^‘And why not? Let us be circum- 
spect while we are here. This is not 
Paris.’’ 

^^Then let us return, darling.” 

^^Why?” 

^Tt is very hard to be circumspect. 1 
want to love you.” 

^^Can’t you love me here ?” she asked 
seriously, ‘‘How strange men are ! 
Don’t they ever grow tired and want a 
vacation ?” 

I couldn’t help laughing at this, but 
still I went on : 

“Seriously, Louise, I love you. I 
cannot get along without you — indeed 
I cannot. Let us go away somewhere — 
somewhere in the country. I know a 
chateau surrounded by a pare clos de 
murs in a corner of the Brie built under 
the eyes of Madame de Sevigne when 
she was a girl — picturesque and beauti- 
ful—” 


96 


The Story of Louiae 

‘^And you would take me there — to 
the very house that Diderot scandal- 
ized T 

^^Why not? It has been disinfected/^ 

She smiled at this sally. 

^‘What on earth would we do there 
alone, Lucien? I am not a Pauline to be 
wooed by the mere voice of a painter. I 
can hardly fancy that pastoral idleness 
would become either of us. Do you 
think I would care to spend my after- 
noons sorting poppy seeds and millet? 
i^^ow don’t be absurd, Lucien. I could 
not go there even if I wished.” 

‘^Why not — is there anything to pre- 
vent it, if you love me ?” 

^‘There is a great deal to prevent it; 
I have a husband for one thing.” 

She said this looking at me steadily. 
I did not know whether she expected me 
to be surprised or not. 


97 


The Story of Louise 

“Did you think that I knew it?” I 
asked. 

“Would it have made any difference? 
I believed you did know — somehow — 
but as you did not ask me I did not 
speak of it.” 

“But it made no difference to you — 
evidently,” I continued. 

“I loved you.” 

“Do you love me now ?” 

“Yes.” 

“More than you love him?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then you will leave him — ^you will 
leave him for me ?” 

“Why should I?” 

“You have a cause.” 

“You mean he has — come, be truth- 
ful, Lucien !” 

“Why should you not leave him, 
then?” I persisted. I was becoming 
vexed. 


98 


The Story of Louise 

^^Because, dearest/^ she retorted, 
am very comfortable as it is. Suppose 
I left him as you wished — ^left him, 
then what?’^ 

I was maddened by her evasive ques- 
tioning and replies. I had withdrawn 
my arm from her waist and we were 
facing each other defiantly. 

‘^Why do you goad me thus, Louise 
I exclaimed. ‘^Good God, cannot you 
say something with heart in it ? What 
do you think I want you to leave George 
Cadal for ?” She looked at me with dis- 
dainful surprise, and with an agitation 
that she tried to conceal — ^‘Merely to 
play with me ? Don’t you see that I am 
almost your dog, your slave; that I am 
living on every breath you draw ? Why 
should I want you to break the ties that 
bind you to a man you must daily depre- 
cate; with whom you have no transaction 
LofC. 


The Story of Louise 

— ^wbose wife you are not even by 
name?’’ 

^^Suppose, Lucien,” she began, her 
lips paled and her eyes opened almost 
doubly wide by excitement, ^^Suppose 
all that you say were true — ” 

^Tt is — is it not ?” I put in. 

^^Do not interrupt me ! Why should 
I be in haste to sever relations, such as 
they are, that would take me away from 
a handsome income, and make me de- 
pendent on the gifts of others? l^ow 
what I possess from him I have a right 
to. Suppose I did leave him — could 
you support me as he does ? Could you 
leave me for a single instant to my own 
caprice ?” 

‘^1 will love you — Louise ! Must you 
always have excitement?” 

^Wes. I don’t care for the country. 
I like it to look at, but I would content 
myself to see it painted on the scenery 

100 


The Story of Louise 

at the opera, rather than leave Paris — 
even for you 

I turned my eyes away from her. For 
a few minutes neither of us spoke. I 
felt a nauseous twinge and my temples 
were throbbing. Louise, however, did 
not lose her equanimity. She put her 
arm slyly back of me, and pressing her 
knee against mine, said: darling, 

do let us have a real good time! You 
know I love you! Don’t let us argue 
again until we are older!” 

I promised. 

At this moment the persistent fellow 
who drove us pointed out an old inn 
w^hich he said supplied good wine for 
men, and good w'ater for horses. On a 
table with a dirty cloth, large bottles 
of yellow fluid stood in the sun in front 
of the inn door, each with a label more 
respectable than the contents. But 


101 


The Story of Louise 

what cared I so long as I was with 
Louise ? 

She was fond of novelty, and this 
stuff which we drank was soporific 
enough in the afternoon air to make us 
forget the troubles of others. 

From thence on to Monaco we fiew 
under that lack of astuteness for which 
public drivers are remarkable. 

We had hardly time to feel the blood 
in each other’s fingers ! 

That Louise might return to the hotel 
without being particularly observed, we 
stopped in the market place where I left 
her. 

It is my present opinion that at that 
moment I was an unmitigated fool. 


IX. 

The Ring. 

L ouise DES CHAPELLES ap- 
peared with me in the Atrium 
of the Casino that evening at- 
tired in a black gown laden with jet, and 
a splash of violets somewhere in its dec- 
oration. She wore a bonnet with simi- 
lar flowers that exuded a perfume as 
exquisite as if they were real. 

Perhaps they were. I was so lost 
in my proprietary admiration as she 
glided at my side on the mosaic floor, 
that I was not impressed by detail. She 
never offended by any special circum- 
stance of color, however; she might at- 
tract attention by her gorgeousness. 
Perhaps women overreached themselves 
when they sneered as they gazed upon 
her, but if they did they were theni- 


103 


The Story of Louise 


selves not beautiful, and lied in order to 
shield their own defects. 

Women will concoct a falsehood, and 
then try to believe it. 

I have had an opportunity to learn 
thus, Madame, but in your case I am 
sure that when you read this you will 
perceive that it is far from being the 
truth when applied to yourself. 

What I may chronicle concerning 
Louise may be useful in psychological 
consideration in the development of my 
story. Of course I did not then attach 
much importance to many little devices 
that interest me so much now. What I 
regarded as entirely unselfish in Louise 
seems to be more or less true, therefore 
I often wonder that such a trait should 
not have dominated in all her relations. 
In the matter of dress she was possessed 
of but little outward conceit. She often 
told me that she hated her mirror, and 


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The Story of Louise 

I believe she did. Once I caught her 
before it giving evidence of disapproba- 
tion. She could not possibly have 
known that she was observed. Yet I 
may have been mistaken. If I paid 
any compliment; if I said to her that 
she was charming in the costume she 
was wearing, she would always say : 
am glad you think so, Lucien, it is com- 
fortable to be thought well dressed.^’ 

I never knew a woman whose clothing 
seemed to be so thoroughly a part of her 
and not an adjunct. With the majority 
it seems to be an accessory in crime. 

I have seen some women whose man- 
ner of costuming should be cause for a 
public inquest. 

'T never realized that I might possi- 
bly be pretty, Lucien, until you told me 
so,’^ she said to me one day. 

At another time : envy that wom- 

an because she knows she is beautiful 

105 




The Story of Louise 


At still another time: ^^It pleases 
women to arouse the passions of men, 
but they fear to arouse their own/’ 

* * * * * 

At eleven o’clock there were heaps of 
gold upon the tables and a crowd of peo- 
ple around them. The croupiers were 
raking in fortunes, and most of the visit- 
ors seemed to be losing theirs. Under 
the brilliant, searching light their faces 
revealed painful anxiety or magnificent 
recklessness. 

Louise insisted upon playing. We 
went into the third room where there 
were large stakes. She drew a crisp 
thousand-franc note from her bosom, 
and when the dealer calmly deprived her 
of it she did not seem surprised. 

^^Another one, Lucien,” she said to 
me, half under her breath, as she drew 
forth a duplicate paper. ^^Here, take it 
— play for me.” 


106 


The Story of Louise 

I did so and won. 

^Tlay again she said. 

I played again. After that again, and 
still I won. 

^^Only once more I said to her fever- 
ishly. 

I was winning thousands for some one 
else, while my bank account in Paris 
was overdrawn. 

The fourth time I won. Then we re- 
turned to the Atrium, where it was 
cooler and sat down on one of the 
couches. I handed Louise five one- 
thousand-franc notes. 

She looked at them for a moment pen- 
sively and then said tremblingly : 
^Tour are for you, Lucien.^^ 

She placed them in my hand that was 
resting in the folds of her dress. 

I refused them with some expression 
of astonishment. have no need of 


/ 


107 


The Story of Louise 

them (heaven forgive me), dearest,’’ I 
said. 

^^Don’t be a foolish boy!” she ex- 
claimed. only provided the capital. 
It would please me, indeed it would !” 

She appeared to be actually offended 
by my refusal. Of course I loved her 
the more for her generosity than ever be- 
fore. I saw no ulterior motive. Ten 
minutes afterwards she was perfectly 
happy in my disconsolation. 

We were interested in watching the 
people come and go through the vesti- 
bule, when Louise’s face suddenly bore 
the pleasant surprise of recognition. A 
tall fellow with a smooth countenance, 
blue eyes, brown hair, and dressed im- 
maculately, strolled over to us. I re- 
member being impressed particularly 
by his thin legs and tight trousers. He 
was good looking and perhaps not half 
bad, and would not have made me think 


The Story of Louise 


of him as a tempting target for my re- 
volver, if he had not been introduced to 
me as the owner of the ^^Gadfly/’ 

am delighted he said, bowing 
gracefully, and turning quickly to 
Louise, ^^This is indeed a surprise/^ 

^Tsn’t it? Won’t you sit down?” 
making room for him at her left. ''I am 
glad you know my friend, and I want 
you to like each other.” 

We both grinned. ''More like a 
hyena,” Louise afterward remarked to 
me. 

Monsieur Battin stood on no cere- 
mony. He was an accomplished flatter- 
er. When he talked to Louise he was 
close enough to dampen her cheeky — as 
you would blow on a piece of crystal to 
clean it. I could not distinctly catch all 
he said, but I saw there was an abund- 
ance of ardor in what he did say, and it 
was in that confidential tone that only a 

109 


The Story of Louise 


cad would assume in the presence of a 
third person. 

But then we are apt to believe all men 
are cads who do not think as we do. 

I was absurdly ill-humored enough to 
go to the roulette table and lose a hun- 
dred francs, while Louise did not even 
appear to notice my absence. Directly 
I returned, Battin spoke to me with 
pleasant assurance. 

Would Monsieur like to go for a sail 
to-morrow 

^^Of course, you will, Lucien,’^ put in 
Louise, enthusiastically. 

But it was only natural that I should 
continue my ill-humor, and speak with 
the assumed wisdom of a prophet. 

^‘1 hardly think it will be fair tomor- 
row. I saw a lot of feluccas come in this 
evening in fear of the wind.’’ 

^^The Mediterranean sailors are like a 


110 


The Story of Louise 

lot of chickens. They run at every cap- 
ful/’ replied Battin, good-naturedly. 

^^You are certainly not afraid, Luc- 
ien queried Louise. 

^^Not I. Only on your account.” 

Battin evinced surprise at my solici- 
tude. 

but it is perfectly safe on board 
of my yacht/’ he said. have a fine 
sailing master, and I will promise you a 
good time. Mademoiselle !” 

^Tt will be perfect,” she said refiec- 
tively, and then — ^^Monsieur Battin has 
some fine wine, Lucien, that he will let 
you taste for my sake. He says it be- 
longed to his grandmother.” 

This was certainly an inducement. 
Battin’s grandmother ! How delightful ! 
Perhaps the old lady had been pre- 
served in the vat. But this suggested 
the possibility of putting an end 
to Battin’s tete-a-tete^ so I said 


111 


The Story of Louise 


to Louise, with but a momen- 
tary glance at the fellow, that I 
would be pleased to have their company 
at a little table in the cafe belonging to 
the Prince of Monaco. 

I could at least choose my own seat 
there, and it would put me into the more 
distinctive position as host. 

I always want to be host to a man I 
despise. That is where the owner of a 
yacht has a signal advantage when he is 
on a cruise. His guest must eat his food. 
He cannot escape. It is splendid ! 

The rooms were crowded. A thou- 
sand fools were clacking, chattering and 
performing the work of deglutition as if 
they were chewing their own brains. 

There is not one natural animal func- 
tion that man does not debase. 

Louise and I sat vis-a-vis, Battin sat 
at the end near the carafe. 

Louise ordered a canape 2C[v^ the wait- 

112 


The Story of Louise 

er looked at her as if she had diamond 
eyes and would give them to him. 

Battin ordered brandy, and I followed 
suit. 

Louise began removing her gloves. 
My recollection of it is, that never was I 
so under the spell of a woman as I was 
at that moment. She sparkled with 
vivacity, and the rich coloring of her lips 
was more tempting than that of any 
flushed fruit that ever grew. 

As she drew off her right glove she 
held up her hand and shook it. The 
snake ring seemed to be alive. I saw it 
twist and glide up her finger. Then it 
fell upon the Sevres plate. At that in- 
stant Battin seized it. 

Louise turned deadly pale. She at- 
tempted to snatch it from his grasp, but 
he playfully eluded her. He did not re- 
mark her face. Every particle of blood 
had faded from her lips. 


113 


The Story of Louise 

^^Give it back to me at once 

^^Not until I look at it, Mademoiselle 
— ^you surely do not object 

^^He turned it over in his paws, and 
Louise tried to sieze it. I could have 
struck him with the brandy bottle. 

Alas, I was powerless to act. We must 
not create a scene; Battin’s intentions 
were innocent enough. He leaned away 
from the table and squinted at the inside 
of the oriental hoop. 

Louise had resumed her natural pos- 
ture. As I glanced at her I did not de- 
tect the slightest wavering. 

How serious it was to her I did not 
know until Battin said with a drawl : 

^^Escamillo! Where the deuce have 
I heard that name, Mademoiselle ? Oh, 
I remember — at a bull fight 


X. 

The Sister of Monsieur Battin. 

F oe the next ten hours I did not 
close my eyes. I had kept my 
own counsel. Louise bade good 
night to Battin, and I escorted her alone 
to the hotel. 

^^You must not come in/’ she said, ^4t 
is late, Lucien. Go to your lodging and 
be sensible.” 

^^And to-morrow ?” 

^^Do you want a to-morrow?” 

^^Yes — a million of them, with you !” 
She held out her hand and I clasped it 
feverishly. I would trust her still. She 
looked as defenceless as a bird. 

Then I left her and went to my room. 
I drank a pint of brandy and smoked in- 
numerable cigarettes as I sat at my win- 
dow and gazed out upon the Mediterra- 
nean that was pulsating under a star-lit 


115 


The Story of Louise 


sky. I tried to meditate and pulled at 
one cigarette, and then at another. I 
could not satisfy myself. I felt as if I 
must eat them. 

So then I drank more brandy. 

I was entirely, hopelessly wrong. Na- 
poleon’s declaration that morals were not 
made for such as he, once had my abso- 
lute scorn. Yet, here was I , so steeped 
in the subtle deviltry of the sex, that I 
cared not for wind, wave or weather. I 
was utterly regardless of consequences. 
God knows I had been reckless enough 
as a bachelor in Paris, but I had always 
been able to look unflinchingly into the 
face of my dog. I was become now to 
behold Louise as my own property. I 
was conscious of the fact, that were I to 
ask her certain questions, if she were 
honest enough to reply, I would be en- 
raged. I had tried persistently to de- 
ceive myself. Yet I was quick to take 


116 


The Story of Louise 

offense at any man who even assumed the 
liberty of beholding her. 

I was persuading myself that Louise 
loved me. There was every indication 
of it. There was no reason for deceit. 
I was paying her nothing ; she must find 
her investment in me a pecuniary loss, 
therefore I felt confident in her profes- 
sions. 

But all correlative conditions are pro- 
ductive. Without them there would be 
fewer convents, and more graves. 

Thus I thought until my brain racked 
with brutal things, and the atmosphere 
began to vibrate. Then I went to bed 
and tossed through the rest of the night. 
Toward noon I fell asleep, but it seemed 
to me I was almost immediately aroused 
by a garcon. He brought a little note 
from Louise. It ran : 

Darling: 

At one o’clock I will breakfast. You are my 
brother and may come to my boudoir. I will 

117 


The Story of Louise 


give you some delicious rognons sautes au vin bland 
Can you resist? Afterwards I will do as yon 
X choose. 

LOUISE. 

While I was dressing I rang the bell 
and asked for letters. There was one 
from George Cadal. He was back in 
Paris. He wrote : 

Dear Lucien: 

•You are lan ungrateful cub! 'Why have I not 
heard from you? I deteste'd TrOuville— it is full 
of chaperones. Genevieve loves me, and I love 
Oenevieve! Is it not a beautiful name? 'She is 
more beautiful than the original saint. And she 
is good. It makes me virtuous even to think of 
her. I begin to realize that I ought to ®ay miy 
prayers oftener-^at all events, visit the cathe- 
drals occasionally. I am leaving Paris again 
tomorrow:. Genevieve has prevailed upon her 
brother some w'ay to invite me to be one of a 
yachting party for a week’s cruise. I have 
heard nothing from Louise, but heaven is pro- 
viding me with strength to bear it. 'How fares 
it with you? 'Do you not think that I am very 
tolerating? But you see I trust you, my 
friend. One can always exi>e!Ct one of two things 
from one’s best friend, so don’t disappoinit me! 

CADAL. 

This called for no reply. I thorough- 
ly understood him. As I put on cal- 


118 


The Story of Louise 


econs I determined I would accept Louise 
for past favors — ^that it should be the 
pro quo that Cadal ought to render. As 
I put on my waistcoat I calculated that 
I would not be sued for the alienation of 
his wife’s affections, and so I might con- 
sider this an addition to my income! 
As I put on my coat I considered 
that my present association was, 
more or less, a beatific missionary 
work. I would breakfast on regnons — 
and if Louise would let me, I would eat 
her too. 

She was sniffing the fresh air outside 
of the window when I was admitted to 
her boudoir. She had on a heliotrope 
gown, trimmed with point lace that I 
knew to be of immense value. Her arms 
were bare from the elbow. She had 
taken off her rings, but on one of her 
wrists she wore a bracelet that I had 
given her. 


119 


The Story of Louise 


A little table was attractively set near 
one of the windows where we could look 
out upon the palmettos and flowers. A 
large bunch of violets fllled the room 
with their odor. We breakfasted as 
might two persons in the flrst day of 
their honeymoon. 

^^Do you know why I sent for you 
Louise asked, nibbling at a piece of toast 
and looking at me ensnaringly. 

^^Because you want to tell me some- 
thing?’' 

^^Yes.” 

^^What?” 

^^That I love you.” 

^Ts that all?” 

^Ts not that enough ?” 

^^Well then, that we might have break- 
fast together !” 

^^Andthen?” 

^^We will go out upon the terrace.” 

120 


The Story of Louise 

At that moment Marie came into the 
room with Mimi. She was black-eyed 
and petite, with a pretty waist. The dog 
had catarrh. 

Women will tolerate more in a little 
dog than they will in a baby. 

^ What is it, Marie V’ asked Louise. 

^^May I see you a moment she said 
with embarrassed beckoning, which I 
fancy I should not have seen. As Louise 
went towards her I heard her begin by 
saying ^^that gentleman — and what fol- 
lowed was indistinct. Then Louise spoke 
for my special benefit : ^^Oh, yes, Marie 
— certainly let Mimi have some exer- 
cise.” 

I longed to stretch the legs of the lit- 
tle beast myself. Louise went to the 
table, wrote a note hurriedly and gave it 
to Marie, who went out of the door with 
a smile at me that was unloyal. 


121 




The Story of Louise 

am not the only one who thinks of 
you this morning/^ I said to Louise. 

^^You are more honored/’ 

^^Than whom ?” 

^^Than the gentleman who is doctor- 
ing Mimi !” 

How infernally stupid I was! 

^^And now, Lucien/’ she continued 
prettily, as we arose from the table, 
will change my gown and go for a 
walk.” 

^^Shall I go down stairs?” 

^^Oh, no, you may remain if you’ll be 
good. I don’t mind you. Besides you 
know you can look out of the window.” 

I was true to her for five minutes. 
Then I turned around. Her neck was 
bare, in a decolette waist that was gar- 
nished with lace. She put up her hands 
suddenly and crossed them on her breast, 
like the young woman in the dying maid- 
en’s prayer. She leaned her head over 


122 


The Story of Louise 


until her chin touched her fingers, and 
then she cast her eyes bewitchingly up- 
ward. I went over to her and embraced 
her. 

^^This is too early in the morning, Lu- 
cien — not until after three 

Then she ran behind a screen that was 
almost transparent, and I looked out 
upon the cactus plants to restore myself. 

Beyond was the blue water, and rest- 
ing upon it was the ^^Gadfiy.’^ The main- 
sail was up, and she had apparently just 
come to a new anchorage from her moor- 
ings further below. A gig was shortly 
dropped over her side and two sailors 
tumbled into it. A third man followed 
and took his seat in the stern. It was 
Battin. 

I called Louise. 

^^He is coming here, Lucien,’^ she said. 
^^You had better meet him below and 


123 


The Story of Louise 

send your card up with his — ^you under- 
stand, donT you 

^^Why meet him at all ? When you re- 
ceive his card can you not send to him 
your excuses V’ 

^^And be a prisoner here ? No, he will 
wait. It is better to see him. Besides he 
wants to arrange about the yacht. 

^Then you will go?’’ 

^^Why not?” 

^^Louise, I dislike that man very 
much ! I am not jealous — I love you ! 
Why do you care for him ?” 

She looked at me seriously. 

^^Do you remember what I told you 
yesterday, Lucien? Must you for ever 
be finding fault ? He is nothing to me ; 
he amuses me — I laugh at him. Do as I 
say — are you not to be with me ?” 

I did remember. After all I would 
trust her. I left her and went down to 
the entrance of the hotel. Battin was 


124 


The Story of Louise 

\vithin a few paces of it, and was impres- 
sively attired in white trousers and a 
dark blue jacket and cap. There were 
too many gold buttons to suit me. I 
greeted him decently, however, and it 
was so evident to him that we were on 
the same errand that he commissioned a 
servant with our names at once. 

^^You see,’^ he said, ^That you were a 
bad prophet. It will be a charming after- 
noon. I invite you to be my guest for a 
few days. Monsieur.’’ 

I thanked him. 

^Tf Mademoiselle can arrange,” he 
went on, would like to sail at four 
o’clock — no doubt that will suit you? 
But women have so much to do.” 

Louise received us in her most capti- 
vating manner, and it was easily ar- 
ranged that we were to be aboard the 
^^Gadfly” at the appointed hour. Some- 
body was to be chaperone when we ar- 


125 


The Story of Louise 

rived at Cannes, which was only a few 
hours sail. But concerning this I did 
not give much attention as I had gone to 
the window and was gazing out into 
vacancy. 

We were aboard the white ship short- 
ly after four o’clock. Louise had taken 
my advice and sent her trunks, with the 
exception of a smaller one, to her apart- 
ment in Paris. They were accompanied 
by Marie and Mimi. 

The ^^Gradfly” was schooner-rigged and 
something like 250 tons burden. Her 
graceful outlines tapered to the bow with 
the sharpness of a serpent’s tooth. Her 
decks shone with brass work; she had 
mahogany lower masts, and all the run- 
ning gear and standing rigging were 
quite new. The sky-lights were of col- 
ored glass caged by brass bars. The 
whole beautiful fabric was inspiring. 

There must have been twenty men in 


126 


The Storj of Louise^ 

the crew. A queer lot they seemed to 
me — serviceable perhaps ; not ornament- 
al. They inspired me at once with con- 
fidence. Battin gave no orders what- 
ever. He communicated his wishes com- 
placently to his sailing master. 

His name was Remenoncq. 

Louise was given a room well forward 
on the starboard side. I was assigned to 
a room on the port side, and I noticed 
that Battin occupied a large one aft — at 
the right of the companion-way. 

We had barely time to look about be- 
fore orders were given to get under way. 
There was a fine breeze — a little from 
the northeast if I remember correctly — 
and so we made a long leg tack at first 
that kept the ^^Gadfiay’^ on a steady 
course on an easy sea. Battin took the 
wheel, and Louise and I sat near him. 
Komenoncq stood forward of the main- 
mast with a watch at leeward. 


127 


The Story of Louise 


It was a superb afternoon. The sky 
was cloudless, and the sun, well over the 
horizon, glanced on the water that was 
kicked up into irridescent bubbles and 
golden sprays. 

It flew along through the lee-scuppers 
with the hiss of escaping soda. 

It danced and flashed and spurted as 
it fell in our wake, while forward where 
the ^^Gadfly’’ slashed, it seemed like the 
ripping of a dazzling piece of a heavy 
blue silk! 

The music box was playing ‘^Kene d’ 
Amour.’^ 

Then the steward brought us wine — 
the flnest of champagne. We drank to 
each other, and Louise drank to the sea, 
pouring out upon it the contents of a 
glass for old Neptune to lave in I 

The music in the box had changed to 
Offenbach. 

128 * 





^‘Come, Remenoncq !” cried our host. 

us drink to the ship 
The sailing master joined us in a glass, 
and when he drained it, had he disap- 
peared in a display of red fire I would 
not have been surprised. But he went 
forward again, after a devilish glance at 
Louise. Their eyes met, but she quickly 
turned to me with that stare which made 
me draw in my breath as it had many 
times before. 

Men are such fools! They assume 
that woman feels as she appears ! 

Did she look at Battin in that way? 
I could not see. 

She had the powers of quick dissimu- 
lation. She could be orthodox in her 
glance, and versatile in her virtue. 

There is enchantment in this distant 
view of mine, and I am mystified that I 
am as able as I am to set down here so 
much that is dispassionate. You will 




129 


The Story of Louise 

wonder when you learn the end, that the 
phrenological spot of memory and the 
psychological amenities of individualism 
remain unaltered. 

But let me go back to that afternoon. 

It was dusk when we ran into the port 
of Cannes, under the hills. We came 
about, and in a moment were riding 
calmly at anchori — ^just as I have seen a 
gull rest from a flight. 

Battin surveyed the landing place 
through a pair of fleld glasses, while 
Louise and I held each other^s hands. 
As he replaced the glasses in the pocket 
by the companion-slide, he exclaimed : 

^^Genevieve — my sister! Now I 
shall see her after two years 

I let go Louise’s hand. 

Genevieve I Cadal 1 It all came ovei* 
me at once. 

Great God ! 


XI. 


The Wine Spills. 

Q EXEVIEVE, the sister of Bat- 
tin, with whom my friend 
George Cadal was in love ! 
Could I avert a catastrophe? I had 
said nothing to Louise concerning Oad- 
aPs intimacy with me, and I had not 
sought to win high stakes for my own 
ends by flinging calumny. He believed 
himself to be in love with a virtuous and 
beautiful woman. It was not a liason. 
I thought to warn him. Perhaps I 
might accompany Battin ashore and thus 
be afforded an opportunity. 

^^My dear fellow,’’ he rejoined at the 
suggestion, ^^don’t you see it would be 
an inconvenience ? There will be three 
others to return, and one of them is a 
very fat aunt of mine ! Xo, I will en- 


131 


The Story of Louise 

tertain you better than that; I will trust 
you with Mademoiselle.’^ 

So he embarked and left us alone. 

We must always be thankful for some- 
thing or other. 

Louise interrupted my thoughts. 

^Ts it not delightful, Lucien?” 

^^Exquisite !” 

^^But it is too fine to last,” she added 
mournfully, taking my hand. ^^Promise 
me you won’t fall in love with Gene- 
vieve.” 

swear it. I shall love no one else ! 
It is I who will prove true !” 

She laughed as a woman can laugh 
when she knows her teeth glisten like 
pearls. I looked down upon her dear 
face with burning love, and felt that 
come what might I Avould stand by her 
— love her — until the end. How she 
would meet George Cadal I did not 
know. I only knew that I adored her. 


132 


The Story of Louise 


i The darkness had fallen and the stars 

I were now shining with the splendor of 
I the blue light in diamonds. A number 
of the crew came aft and stretched a 
i short awning. Under it the swinging 
^ lamp lighted up our faces. We could 
; not see ten feet beyond, but just too 
close within that radius to be unseen, 
stood Captain Kemenoncq with his 
swarthy face half crossed by a ray of 
j light that was drawn over his brow like 
^ a scar from a jaguar’s jaw. 

! He was tall in stature, broad shoul- 

I dered, and thence tapered down to a pair 
of small ankles. He had the moustaches 
of a Cavalier, the carriage of a swash- 
buckler, and an eye that a pickpocket 
i would have slunk away from, 
j I caught sight of him while he seemed 

to be feasting upon Louise. He had the 
j look of a hungry animal. 


I 



The Story of Louise 

Why should he not be hungry when 
he beheld such a woman ? 

Think of the lusciousness of a pink 
peach ! 

His gaze was riveted. I tried to divert 
it, but couldn’t. She had turned her 
head towards him, and the subtle fasci- 
nation that a serpent exercises over a 
bird seemed to have seized upon her. I 
saw her nostrils expand and dilate, and 
her breast heave as the flush I knew so 
well crept upon her cheek and curved 
under her eyes. 

I knew then that many men had loved 
Louise. 

I could stand it no longer. 

Kising from my seat I walked delib- 
erately to where he stood, speaking as I 
advanced. 

My voice must have penetrated his 
ribs as well as his brains by its enuncia- 
tion. 

134 




The Story of Louise 


^^Captain Eemenoncq, what light is 
that?” I asked, pointing to a star direct- 
ly over the point of the bowsprit. 

He started back, but answered me 
quickly as he shifted his position. 

^^That is Venus.” 

^^She is worthy of our admiration,” I 
said, lowering my voice. ^In that direc- 
tion lies no danger !” 

He bowed stiffly. He was not obtuse. 

‘^As it pleases Monsieur,” he said. 

I thought he answered with insolence. 
I afterwards knew that it was chagrin. 

Some times in our lives, after many 
years, we can recall a trivial incident 
with startling vividness. In the trans- 
action we paid no heed to it. It might 
be the waving of an apple blossom in 
the fresh air of the morning; the trick- 
ling of a brook — the smell of a camelia 
on a dead body — ^the peculiar perfume 
in the hair of an adored one — all at once 


136 


The Story of Louise 

it comes back to you in ii sudden moment 
of singular conception. 

Again at the side of Louise I felt only 
a trembling of her hand which I attrib- 
uted to a feminine alarm at my abrupt- 
ness with Remenoncq^ and the glance 
of her eyes gave me no serious thought. 
But the memory of it has just come over 
me. Now I see what I did not see. 

It was three bells by the cabin clock. 
The steward stepped forward and ad- 
dressed Captain Remenoncq, and then 
came over to me. 

^Tf Monsieur would please to dine^ 
Monsieur Battin would prefer it, I am 
sure. He is no doubt detained by the 
late mail train,’’ he said respectfully. 

am sure that I would prefer it, 
Lucien,” Louise put in emphatically. 
am as hungry as one of those little bears 
we saw in the garden.” 


136 








The Story of Louise 

‘‘Very well/’ I said to the steward, 
who went below, giving a sigh of relief. 

We do not realize the tension of a 
good cook ! 

No restaurant in Paris could have ex- 
celled in the presentation of the dishes 
that were put before us. The red wine 
was as smoothly seductive as the oil of 
forbidden fruit; it mingled with the 
blood of the Chateaubriand financiere 
and the substance of it created the desire 
vrhich we scorn in the brute. 

Man is a glutton, restrained cnly by 
the limits of purchase — woman by her 
corsets. 

“Monsieur Battin is proud of this 
wine!” said the steward as he poured 
champagne into irridescent glasses with 
hollow stems that were coiled like the 
virgin tung on a grape vine. It was a 
brut with a taste that set every nerve 


137 


The Story of Louise 

and fibre of the mouth into quivering 
ecstacy. 

The steward retired. 

We sipped of the wine and let the wet 
of it on our lips come together with 
delirious delight. 

Then she handed me a rare magou- 
stan and we divided it and ate of it like 
children. 

I believe the wrath of God manifested 
itself after we had partaken of the fruit, 
even if it were an Asiatic apple. The 
air seemed suddenly to grow oppressive- 
ly warm. The ^^Gadfly’’ began to rock 
with a strange unsteadiness. Louise was 
the first to notice it and started up with 
the quick intentness of a kitten. She 
was very pale and I led her upon deck. 
Mascarat, the mate, had taken a position 
at the wheel, and landsman though I 
was, I saw enough to know that some- 
thing was wrong. I saw, too, that we 

138 


The Stoiy of Louise 

were under way. The swell of the sea 
was right abeam, and the whole aspect 
was inky black. 

‘^What is the matter I asked of the 
mate. He wore earrings — otherwise he 
might have been the cast off Count of 
X— 

storm, Monsieur,’’ he replied. 
She doesn’t hold. We must run into the 
teeth of her.” He showed his own. 

The wind came in fitful spits and we 
seemed to make no headway. Indeed, 
as far as I could observe, we drifted lee- 
ward. The little ship began pitching in 
a distressful manner, and the swell 
struck thunderously under her counter. 

In the cabin we heard the smash of 
china-ware, and the expletives of the 
steward. At every lurch Louise grasped 
hold of me in fright. Remenoncq was 
giving orders. All the canvas appeared 
to be in its place, and the whole fabric 


139 


Tile Story of Louise 

grew wonderfully emphatic in its de- 
markation. 

Then there seemed to be a cessation of 
uneasiness, and the rain fell in torrents. 
I did not know its portention as a sea- 
man would. We had sought refuge in 
the cabin. Louise was hysterical, and 
lay grasping at the cushions. 

Then came a sound that burst upon 
us with horror. The whole sky was torn 
into a gash of blue and red flame that 
was followed by a crash of thunder that 
seemed to be the tearing of mighty 
sheets of iron! 

It was impossible to stand ; the yacht 
was like a prancing horse. 

I crawled to the companion way and 
pushed one of the doors open. Both 
Kemenoncq and Mascarat were strug- 
gling with the wheel. They were cov- 
ered with oilskins and I could hardly 
see their faces. Then there was a ces- 


140 


The Story of Louise - 

sation of wind and Kemenoncq ran 
forward giving orders, while the mate 
bore hard down. What the manoeuvre 
was I do not know, but the storm died 
as quickly as it was born, and once 
again the binnacle light shed a still glow 
on the cockpit. I heard the rattle of 
chains and the splash of the anchor. 

We had gone five miles or more in 
the drive, and neither the captain nor 
the mate could give me much assurance 
as to our bearings. I was determined 
to make the best of it. 

Louise quickly revived. I felt that 
we had gone through a danger, and was 
not ungrateful. When she suggested 
that I should invite Kemenoncq into 
the cabin I did not hesitate. He glared 
at me furtively when I approached him, 
and then his expression relaxed into a 
decent possibility of comradeship. Per- 
haps my jealousy had carried me too far. 


141 


The Story of Louise 

At the cabin table he was unabashed. 
He spoke in the platitudes which wom- 
en like. Louise plied him with questions 
that he answered with easy assurance, 
but from his replies I could gain no 
knowledge concerning himself. 

It was apparent that if he were not 
well born he had been received in the 
houses of the rich in certain quarters 
where veins were not opened to deter- 
mine the quality of blood. In such con- 
nection Louise did not evince curiosity. 
Once or twice I saw her blush when he 
was disposed to be loquacious, and fin- 
ger her glass uneasily. 

Finally she arose. 

beg your pardon — Mademoiselle !” 
Eemenoncq said. ^Tt is late. You 
need not fear to retire. It will be im- 
possible to return to Cannes tonight. 
Monsieur will have faith in his yacht 


142 


The Story of Louise 

and is not apprehensive. In the morn- 
ing you shall see him.’^ 

He showed her to the door of the 
state room^ and I went in and arranged 
the lamp. 

^^You will be comfortable here/^ he 
said. 

I looked at the bed. It was worthy 
the resting place of a princess. She bade 
me good-night cheerfully and we went 
back to the cabin table. 

Remenoncq filled two glasses. ^Tt 
is my privilege now to act as host in the 
absence of Monsieur Battin. Let us 
drink to the health of all on board— to 
the Madam!” he said, putting the glass 
to his lips. 

‘To the Mademoiselle 1” I exclaimed, 
in correction. 

“To Mademoiselle !” he said calmly. 


xn. 

Captain Remenoncq. 

R EMENONCQ excused himself 
with an unctions placidity and 
^ went on deck. 

I sat contemplatively at the table and 
smoked. 

I wondered whether Louise was sleep- 
ing. 

I looked up at the skylights. They 
were not transparent, and were closed. 
The port hole windows were covered by 
curtains. 

The companion slide was partially 
open. 

If I were to shut it I would be unob- 
served. 

I peered out into the gloom. For- 
ward, I saw Remenoncq sitting at the 
head of the cabin top. I could see by 
the light of a match he struck that his 
144 


The Story of Louise 


back was half turned. Then I slid back 
cautiously and went over to the door of 
the state room occupied by Louise, and 
knocked at it gently. 

In a moment she opened it. Her light 
was dimly burning. She had on her 
chemise de nuiL 

^‘Oh, it is you, Lucien she said in a 
little tone of surprise. 

‘^Whom else?’^ 

— I don’t know, I was almost 
asleep.” 

^^And you thought I was the con- 
cierge and we were back in Paris, and it 
was a message from — me?” 

‘^Yes — ^you foolish boy. I wish it 
were so I I hate this.” 

‘‘We will go back to Paris in the 
morning if you say.” 

“Anywhere — quickly — I am fright- 
ened. Go back to your room, Lucien.” 

“Kiss me I” 

145 


II -f 


The Story of Louise 


She put her arms around me, and I 
saw her pink toes as she drew my head 
down. 

^^There, good night!’’ 

She closed the door softly, and I 
heard her fasten it. I had only time to 
resume my position at the table when 
Eemenoncq appeared. 

^^You are wakeful,” he said. 

^^And you?” 

^‘1 shall not sleep.” 
sentinel ?” 

^Tor the ship’s safety,” he answered 
carelessly. So you may go to bed.” 
had rather be entertained.” 

^Then let us go on deck. It is stuffy 
here — besides we might arouse — Made- 
moiselle.” 

He led the way and we went forward 
where there was a chair in which he 
bade me be seated. He leaned against 

146 


The Story of Louise 

the starboard shroud reflectively. Pres- 
ently he spoke. 

^^Monsieur, you told me that in the 
direction of Venus there was no dan- 
ger. I forgive you the insult that you 
meant — 

^^Sir !’’ I exclaimed, half rising. 

beg you to remain seated. You 
said you wished to be entertained. To 
accomplish that we must first forgive 
each other.’^ 

^^Go on.’’ 

^‘You are a younger man than I. You 
have a temperament that demands the 
punctuality that is the politeness of 
kings. It is the most infernal thing 
with which a man can be afflicted. You 
ask a woman to meet you at three 
o’clock. She will meet you at four. 
You ask a woman to love you, and she 
swears by the fig leaf that her first 
mother wore that she will give you her 


147 


The Story of Louise 

soul. But she only rents it. She will 
tell you that a man is not capable of un- 
derstanding a woman^s love. He cannot. 
It is beyond comprehension. It is a com- 
plex conceit. It is a coemption for the 
time being.’^ 

He paused. 

believe you, and I do not believe 
you/’ I said. ^‘There must be some 
woman who could love — as I would 
love !” 

^^There may be. You must find her.” 

^^And you think that would be diffi- 
cult?” 

^^Unless you diverge from the path 
that you now think is embowered in 
primroses.” 

He paused again, and lighted another 
cigar. I inhaled a cigarette hungrily. 

^^Why do you say all this to me?” I 
asked. 

^^Because I know of you — ^because I 


148 


The Story of Louise 

am willing to sacrifice any possible 
friendship between us, if I may be the 
means of actual service.’’ 

^^You are strangely kind.” 

^‘Yes, perhaps.” 

‘^Why should you care what happens 
to me?” 

^^You shall know if I am permitted to 
speak freely.” 

will listen.” 

‘‘You will promise to quietly hear 
everything I say ?” 

“If you do not insult me.” 

“Well, then, a few moments ago you 
knocked at the door of the state room, 
in which you found Mademoiselle was 
wide awake enough to hear you” — 

“Monsieur !” 

“You promised to listen — ^wait ! You 
were answered — she kissed you — dis- 
missed you, and you heard her lock her 
door. Is this not so ?” 


149 


The Story of Louise 



^^And you are a spy?^ 

^‘No. I see that I have told the truth. 
I surmised it.’’ 

^^Go on.” 

you should now go to her door 
you would find that the holt has been 
withdrawn.” 

^That is absurd. Besides^ it would 
mean nothing.” 

^^You shall judge when you hear the 
story I wish to tell you.” 

^Troceed.” 

^^When France sent an army into 
Algeria to teach the Arabs what it 
knew about wielding the sabre, it also 
established a refuge for some of the 
most desperate criminals in Paris. In 
the costume of the ^Chasseurs d’ Af- 
rique’ hundreds of necks were hid from 
the guillotine. Many of the police were 
sent to Algiers, and among them was a 
man by the name of Eemenoncq. So 

150 




The Story of Louise 


valuable did his services become, that 
when he sought a commission in the 
army it was not long before he had the 
right to be as proud as a turkey in his 
braids and buttons. Some time, per- 
haps, you may be interested when you 
come across his name in Tableaux 
de la situation des establissments Fran- 
cais dans V Algeriei* It was in Algiers 
that my worthy and very brave and dis- 
tinguished parent subsequently endeav- 
ored to rid the harbor of the ^Eoche sans 
^Tom’ in order to admit the French 
fleet. A Spaniard who was an accom- 
plished engineer was consulted. His 
name was Escamillo. Between the two 
became established an indissoluble bond 
of friendship. On the death of his 
friend, my faithful progenitor received 
as a souvenir, a curious ring. It was 
elaborately carved and represented the 


151 


The Story of Louise 


wing of a bird, the claw of a lizard and 
the head of a snake.’’ 

I started and arose to my feet. Re- 
menoncq waved his hand at my impa- 
tience, and proceeded. 

‘^This ring afterward fell into the 
possession of his son. It was worn by 
him when we fought the Prussians. At- 
tached to the regiment was a young 
vivandiere with whom the officer became 
very much enamoured. He loved her 
ardently, and would have been most 
honorable in making her his wife. He 
had placed upon her hand this ring, and 
thus they pledged their betrothal. One 
day she disappeared. She went to Ma- 
drid, and under the assumed name of 
her lover, won the intimate friendship 
of a young man who had become a bull 
fighter. His name was Escamillo, son 
of the engineer. The first lover com- 
pletely crushed, almost annihilated by 


152 


The Story of Louise 

the loss of one upon whose possession he 
had set his life, retired from the regi- 
ment and became attached to the Pre- 
fecture of Police. I am that man. The 
name of the woman was Louise des 
Chapelles.’^ 

Eemenoncq had well anticipated the 
effect of this disclosure. Before I had 
time to reply, but not before the blood 
had mounted to my temples and then 
coursed back and filled my whole being 
with madness, he placed his hand on my 
shoulder. 

^^K^ow, my young friend, am I at lib- 
erty to prove my first assertion that it 
is not for you alone that Louise des 
Chapelles withdraws the bolt on her 
bed-room door?^’ 

^^Yes I exclaimed. I was beginning 
to freeze. The perspiration was drop- 
ping as it slides from off the water pots 
of Egypt. 


153 


The Story of Louise 


‘^Then follow me/’ said Eemenoncq, 
^^and stand by without. The cabin light 
will shield you.” 

I did as I was bid. He walked along 
the little passageway until he came to 
her door. He knocked slightly, he 
pushed it open, went within, and I heard 
the lock snap. 

For five minutes I waited in the des- 
perate anxiety of one whose nerves are 
unstrung, as only such a fool’s as mine 
can be. In that five minutes the scheme 
for vengeance for which I must yet pay 
the penalty, was devised by me with an 
adroit diabolism of which up to that time 
I had not believed myself capable. 
***** 

Now, Monsieur and Madame, you are 
looking for a clever denouement — 
a stroke in authorship that will reveal 
why this book was on the shelf whence 
you borrowed it. 


> 


154 


' The Story of Louise 

You will be disappointed. You must 
wait; I promised you there would be no 
complications. 

I will admit that here I am ajfforded 
an admirable opportunity to present an 
interesting situation — a better one, per- 
haps, than any my young friend, the 
Chevalier Alexandre Dubissant, intro- 
duced in his ^Autobiography of a 
Demirep,’ which you have read, and 
which your young daughter is reading 
at this very instant. 

You will find the book under her pil- 
low. 

We should have a censor whose func- 
tion it would be, in the first place, to 
prohibit the circulation of every story 
without a moral. The life of a creature 
of the demimondaine as told by a con- 
sort should be free from self -per jury. 

Louis Phillippe — and France never 
had so good a royalist — once told my 




155 


The Story of Louise 

father, that crime had been extended 
more by the work of the Immortal 
Forty, than by any social system which 
jailors represent. 

He was right. 

He said further: ^^There are thous- 
ands in the prisons for stealing bread, 
but the bankers who swindle the gov- 
ernment are allowed their freedom.’’ 

Do you comprehend my parallel ? To 
be frequently ambiguous is the proud 
license of every great author. 

I have another theory in bookwriting. 
I believe an occasional chapter should 
be permitted to the author for the de- 
velopment of his arrogant sophistry. 

By such entre acts, the reader will be 
able to gloss over a great deal without 

losing the thread of the story. 

***** 

Eemenoncq came out of the door 
and strode toward me. 


156 


The Story of Louise 

He unfastened the lantern that hung 
like an uneasy pendulum from the main 
spar, and held it closely that I might 
see the glittering of the snake. 

I remember that his hand trembled, 
and I recall his quick breath. 

“This is my father’s ring!” he ex- 
claimed. “The rock in the harbor of 
Algiers has been removed. The water 
now lies many fathoms deep where I 
shall bury it !” 


XIII. 


Alger La Blanche. 

Q OD only knows liow the morn- 
ing Avas reached at last — a 
cold, dead day that began 
with a flag of red streaks laid over 
the stars that had sickened and died and 
then faded away into the greyness that 
decomposes. 

All the night I fought against the in- 
sanity of an impending doom that I was 
to create myself. 

I slept the moment but to awake the 
next, after a dream in which I had em- 
bargoed my soul. 

When the day broke I beheld myself 
in the glass as one would look upon the 
countenance of a stranger. 

I had reason to fear the creature re- 
flected in the mirror. He appeared like 
one Avho would stab me in the back! 


158 


The Stoiy of Louise 

The crew were holystoning the deck, 
and scrubbing the brass work, and send- 
ing the swash from the buckets swish- 
ling through the lee scuppers. They 
were in their bare feet, with trousers 
rolled up to their knees. I remember 
looking at the skin on their shanks and 
wondering whether the mothers of it 
were mourning or dead. Perhaps these 
progenies were all rascals like I was to 
become, and had been begotten among 
the ash heaps of Paris. 

It was early, too early to expect any 
signs of breakfast. The smoke was 
pouring out of the galley funnel and 
was floating heavily down upon the 
water, and mingled with a low mist that 
seemed to encumber its whole breast. 
We must have been a long way off land, 
for I could not see even the line of it, 
but then I was not a sailor and did not 
know the obscurations on the sea. 


159 


The Story of Louise 


But what mattered anything? What 
did I care ? My heart had become heav- 
ier than the weight that drags down the 
sounding line, and I drank from a glass 
to stay a nausea that was overcoming 
me. 

Louise appeared upon the deck and 
came to me almost radiant with life and 
enthusiasm. 

I greeted her with assumed noncha- 
lance. It was not altogether difficult. 
Nature had passed its compasses into the 
hands of the devil, and I was marking 
out new diameters and circumferences 
in my brain. 

^‘Shall we go to Paris this morning 
was the first thing she said. 

We were standing alone where none 
could hear us. 

^‘Not to Paris, Louise — somewhere 
else. Will you come with me beyond 
the sight of everyone who could know 

160 


The Story of Louise 


us — ^where you will let me love you the 
way — I wish 

‘^But just a little in Paris, Lucien 

^Tisten a moment,” I said abruptly. 
^^Let me tell you something. George 
Cadal is expected on iDoard this yacht 
this morning. He was to join our friend 
Monsieur Battin’s sister — ” 

^^Genevieve ?” 

^‘Yes. He is in love with her, and 
has been invited to be one of the guests. 
Do you wish to meet him ?” 

‘‘ko— no!” 

^^They must have been detained last 
night. Perhaps they will not arrive 
from Paris until today. We can go to 
Marseilles at once and thus avoid 
them.” 

^^And then?” 

^To Algiers — to my patio !” 

^^Well, yes; I would like that.” 

I did not flatter myself that Louise 


161 


The Story of Louise 

at tliis juncture cared in the slightest 
degree to make such a journey with me 
for the sake of my companionship. I 
knew that she was glad to flee from Ee- 
menoncq; that she had sense enough 
to keep away from Cadal, and that she 
feared any possible exposure with Bat- 
tin. 

Already I saw in her the versatility 
of the Ecchelian goddess ! 

But she had finally met the implaca- 
ble prince ! 

* * * * 

We left well framed excuses and de- 
parted in the small boat. Kemononcq 
bade us good bye like an uncloaked 
Dante, and we were rowed ashore by 
the fellow Mascarat, who wore the big 
earrings, and had eye teeth like the men 
in the period of Geughis Khan. 

We met none we knew at the wharves. 
Soon we were speeding on the way to 

162 


The Story of Louise 


Marseilles, and late in the afternoon, 
with but a moment of refreshment at 
the Hotel des Ambassadeurs, we left -its 
harbor of rigging, and the ^‘Ville of Ma- 
drid,^^ with us upon its deck was plough- 
ing its course to Algiers. 

Twenty-four hours afterward, that 
out of consideration for you Madame, I 
should separate by asterisks, we were 
gazing at a distant white city wreathed 
in the green of olives, under a golden 
moon, and perfumed by geranium. 

That night I looked upon the sleeping 
face of Louise for the last time. She 
lay upon a divan, stretched out in the 
unconsciously loose and extended lines 
that the female cat assumes in the par- 
lor of its mistress. 

Her lips were parted in feverish 
breathing, with intermittent sighs that 
brought the almost opalescent pearls in 
her mouth together with a little clash. 


The Story of Louise 

Her breast was like the wondrous heav^ 
ing of a piece of marble under diaphan- 
ous lace. One beautiful arm was 
stretched bare above her head, and was 
half wrapped in the wild scatter of the 
gold-bronze hair that covered the pillow, 
and hung over like drapery. The other 
arm hung loosely from the couch, and 
the finger tips were nearly touching the 
floor. From it had fallen the bracelet 
in which the dangerous diaspore was 
sunken. 

Perhaps it would decrepitate with vio- 
lence if I struck it on her wrist! 

But it would not kill ! 

The light from the lamp had been 
extinguished, and as I stood and looked 
at her, the gold glow of the late moon 
shone in upon the floor and reached up 
the couch, and penetrated the hair and 
seemed to be unravelling it in a volup- 
tious embracement. 


164 


The Story of Louise 


I kneeled and caught strands of it and 
took them into my mouth in hungry 
ecstacy and delirium. 

I could have clawed at her beautiful 
neck as a wolf fastens its fangs upon the 
throat of a lamb. 

With men, love becomes an insane 
ebullition of the passions. With wom- 
en, it becomes a happiness. 

With woman, it is contentment. With 
man, it is the dethronem.ent of reason." 


XIV. 

The House of Zohr. 

n Y KECOLLECTION of the fol- 
lowing morning is confused. 
I remember that it was nearh 
one o’clock when I finally came out of 
a drunken stupor. The flame in the 
lamp was dying, in a little red struggle 
of embers dn the M’chacha where I 
found myself. I lay on the matting 
breathing the soiled atmosphere, into 
which had crept the scent of orange blos- 
soms and musk. The hot sun was pour- 
ing through the open doorway and had 
struck on my face and burnt into my 
skin until it wakened me from my hash- 
ish dreams of white doves that flew 
around me until I seemed to cry out in 
terror as I beheld them flutter into a 
living cross, into which, suddenly, and 
with fearful cruelty, my dog, the Prince 

166 


The Story of Louise 

of Trebizonde, leaped and crunched the 
neck of one between his teeth. His 
jaws were full of white feathers, and 
the red blood trickled down as I once 
saw it fall down from a knife in a sacri- 
ficial feast, and I awoke just as I had 
rushed to him and was trying to share 
the booty with ravenous hunger. 

I staggered out into the air that was 
filled with the scent of roses. A wom- 
an of Arabia, with an oval face, and 
eyes as black as the night, that was fled, 
was passing and threw orange water at 
me from a gold bottle, like a pepper- 
box, and smiled upon me with oriental 
insinuation. I may have leered at her; 
she turned her head away with that look 
of feminine disdain that one will see 
among all the races. It must have been 
handed down by Mother Eve when her 
husband blamed her for tempting him 
with the fruit. Following this Pandora, 


167 


The Story of Louise 


was a little girl that bewitched me. She 
wore a long white chemise: that is the 
only way to describe it, with fine gauze 
sleeves, and over it was a gandoura 
reaching near to the ankles, and covered 
with the prints of birds and branches. 
It was all in light silk, and around the 
waist was a wide ceinture. On her gold 
hair that was plaited in long lengths, was 
a conical cap of crimson velvet. 

Why do I detail this ? Because I wish 
to test my memory to show you that I 
am not insane as I was then — ^yet now, 
God help the devils, I am watched as 
if I were a penetrating tincture of aco- 
nite. 

I wish to heaven that I was sleeping 
as peacefully as that old Algerian saint, 
Bon Medine, sleeps in his kouba ! 

I found my way to a Moorish bath, 
and after a not altogether choice ming- 
ling with a lot of perspiring Arabs, I 


168 


The Story of Louise 


felt myself at least refreshed by an ap- 
plication of pumice stone and cold water. 
From thence I went to Louise’s bed- 
room that looked out on the colonnade. 
She was resting on a divan drinking cof- 
fee from a copper pot, and she was rav- 
ishingly attired in a robe de chambre 
of pale yellow silk of the softest texture. 

One of her slippers of like color had 
fallen from her foot and lay on the floor 
touching the nose of a tiger skin. I saw 
that her stockings were of a deeper 
shade. Louise seemed to have costumes 
for every clime, and her voluptiousness 
in dress exceeded any vision in the Ori- 
ent I ever saw. She wore ingenious gar- 
ters at her knee, made of the flnest 
gold and studded with pearls. The bands 
had been welded in place, and I never 
possessed the courage to demand the 
name of the jewel-smith. 

The soft breeze that came into the 


169 


The Story of Louise 


room, caught the filmy drapery of her 
person, and as it seemed to unwrap itself, 
displayed an opalesque sheen of an un- 
dergarment on her breast that was so 
delicate in its ochre, that no butterfly 
would have committed a crime against 
it by permitting the juxtaposition of its 
most delicate wings. 

I stood thus for a moment beholding 
her, unperceived. 

I contemplated. 

She was too beautiful to live I 

If I could bury her under an almond 
tree I could go back to the M’chacha, 
and when I had become depraved 
enough, they could, when it was between 
the moons, bring me out on a litter, and 
then, perhaps, our whitened spirits could 
join each other in the Paradise of Mo- 
hammed. There none of our old friends 
would meet us! 

She greeted me with a salutation that 

170 


The Story of Louise 


would have graced the most innocent 
woman in Paris. 

‘‘You look pale, Luden,” she said 
pleasantly. 

“I have reason to feel so,’’ I answered 
somewhat impetuously. “I was rubbed 
with a stone at the bath — ” 

“And you drank too much last night,” 
put in Louise. “Come, a cup of this 
strong coffee will do you good! Here, 
sit down beside me !” 

She put her hand through my hair and 
drew my lips down to her perfumed 
breast. 

No wonder there are so many inmates 
of the institution of Salpetriere ! 

She made room for me on the divan 
at her side, and looked into my eyes with 
a curious studying stare that once vrould 
have caused me to succumb to any de* 
mand, but I beheld her with a resolute 
determination. She could not have di- 


171 


The Story of Louise 


vined a single thought of mine, yet sud- 
denly she pushed me away and I fell half 
seated on the floor. 

don’t like you this morning, Lu- 
cien — don’t like the way you look at 
me !” 

^^And so you fly at me as a spoiled 
child ?” I replied, rising as I spoke and 
gazing out on the terraces that were 
dazzling white under the mid-day sun. 
I was trembling in anxious anger and 
dread. I had always been quick in 
temper, easily pacifled, and unrevenge- 
ful. Then came up within me a singular 
and sudden calmness. I shed one con- 
sciousness and took upon myseK an- 
other kind, as completely as a serpent 
sheds its skin. I seemed to be fllled with 
a bloodless inspiration as I turned and 
faced her. She was playing with her 
fan and watching me wonderingly. 

^^Come here, you silly boy!” she ex- 


The Story of Louise 


claimed, laughingly. “Come ! you shall 
kiss my white arm !” 

I went over to her, and lifting it up 
I did kiss it as I had a thousand times 
before — kissed it with the seal on my 
lips that it would be the last — kissed it 
with lips that seemed to be marble ! 

I gazed into her face and saw her 
eyes watching me, not with passion, but 
with the reflective look that a woman 
might bestow upon the infant child of 
her predecessor. I saw what I had never 
fully realized before. But I was capa- 
ble of some dissimulation. I suggested 
a stroll, and Louise had changed her 
garment in a twinkling. 

“I will show you Algerine life. First 
we will visit Mustapha Superieur.*’ 

“What do you know of it, Lucien?” 

“T lived here one winter as a Saouarr.” 

“As a what?” 

^^As — an artist.” 


The Story of Louise 


what?’^ 

painted portraits from Moorish 
models. I had a tent among the fuschia 
and geranium, and I almost died from 
the breath of the eucalyptus tree/’ 

She looked at me enquiringly. 

^^You never told me you painted por- 
traits.” 

^‘Because I gave it up when I met 
you — I felt it would be of no further 
use. I painted to reach an ideal.” 

We went on up the heights, and into 
a patio, and sat by a fountain where the 
water played over roses and jasmin and 
splashed on lilies and honeysuckles. 

We watched the manoeuvrings of a 
glittering troop of French cavalry on the 
race course down the hill below us, and 
when we went up on to the elevation of 
El-Biar, the Mediterranean and the 
slopes were like a distant panorama. 


174 


The Story of Louise 

^‘How very beautiful!’’ exclaimed 
Louise, clapping her hands. 

^^And now let us visit some other ap- 
portionment,” I said. ‘T will show you 
how the real Algerines live.” 

‘T should very much like to see the 
inside of one of their houses, Lucien.” 

‘T will show you one that belongs to 
me — that I bought and deserted.” 

‘^Bought with money ?” 

^Tn a way — but you shall see. It has 
a keeper, if she is not dead.” 

I had aroused her curiosity, and later 
on she followed me gaily through nar- 
row streets and tunnels, and to a door 
with a big brass knocker that I pounded 
until we were let into an inner court by 
a young Arab. Finally, we were admit- 
ted into a chamber that opened out on 
a court of red tiles, across which the 
shadows of oleander boughs were lying. 

The inner door was open, and I knew 


175 


The Story of Louise 

that Zohr was at home, for Zohr was a 
courtesan and never closed out the sun- 
light. 

Zohr met us with surprise and trans- 
parent astonishment. Louise eyed her 
with curiosity, and then glanced at me 
with surprise. It needed but a side 
whisper from me, and Zohr left us 
alone. 

I heard her close the outer door. 

Louise was examining the place with 
rapid feline scrutiny. 

Finally she sat down upon a sill be- 
tween two columns and contemplated me 
with peculiar interest. I was standing 
on the blue tiled floor in front of her. 

The moment was come when I felt 
that w^e would understand each other 
better than ever before. She certainly 
did not exhibit any suspicion that I had 
brought her hither for speciflc purpose, 
nor was there any reason why she should 


176 


The Story of Louise 


suppose that I had any extraordinary 
motive. We had been having other mo- 
ments when any climax of difference 
could have been more conveniently 
reached. 

It all seems like an hour ago ! 

She was perfectly self-contained; she 
was neither pale nor agitated, yet she 
anticipated me — she was the first to 
speak. 

^^Lucien, don’t you think we had bet- 
ter put an end to this silly nonsense? 
Don’t you think it rather absurd for us 
to travel around as if we were a couple 
of juvenile tourists — ” 

^^What do you mean?” I asked. 

^^You know exactly what I mean — 
that I have been making a fool of my- 
self.” 

^That is,” I returned, ^^you have been 


177 


The Story of Louise 


making a fool of me, that you have been 
playing with me !” 

^^You were useful/^ She looked down 
at her feet, and then at me with about 
as devilish an expression as I ever saw 
in a woman^s face. 

^^And now you wish to throw me off — 
now that you are tired playing with me 
— how dare you tell me this 

^^Why should I not dare ? I dare do 
anything — ” she reached down and 
lifting up her skirt, calmly pulled up 
her yellow stocking and fastened it to 
the gold garter — am not afraid of 
you, or anything!’’ 

I was livid with anger, yet somehow 
or other I was propitated by Satan him- 
self and fiendishly devised to argue a 
question, the ultimate end of which 
would be my own premeditated accom- 
plishment. I folded my arms and stood 


178 


The Story of Louise 

, before her with the passiveness of a pro- 
fessional executioner. 

‘‘Then I am to understand/’ I pro- 
ceeded, “that I have simply been useful 
to you — that I am one of a chain gang 
that numbers your husband, George Ca- 
dal, Captain Kemenoncq, and that poor 
little devil — Don Escamillo, the bull 
fighter?” 

“Suit yourself !” 

“And who would it be next?” 

“T shall return to my husband.” 

“Slie looked at me unfiinchingly. I 
couldn’t believe that it were possible for 
a woman’s eyes to change so much — but 
I have learned that a woman is capable 
of anything; even of being good. 

She pronounced the name of ‘hus.- 
band’ in a certain vray that astounded 
me. I advanced toward her — near 
enough almost to feel her breath. 

“The man you now dare to speak of 


170 


The Story of Louise 


in that way is dead to you, and you know 
it — even as dead as you will be to 
me /” 

^‘You do not know George Cadal!^^ 
she suddenly exclaimed with passion. 
^^You do not know him at all ! See here, 
Lucien Flavel, you thought him your 
friend — ^you were a fool! It is I to 
whom you are indebted — do you under- 
stand ? It was I who arranged his little 
vacation — it was I who wove the net in 
which you were a poor miserable fly! 
Sometime you will learn as I have 
learned, that there is no such thing as a 
friend. The most contemptible of acts 
are done by them — I gave them up long 
since. George Cadal and I suit each 
other’s purpose! Now what do you 
think?” 

She leaned back, propped up by her 
hands that rested on the sill behind her. 
I could not believe my ears. To what 


180 


The Story of Louise 

purpose I had been put I could not see, 
nor have I seen. Perhaps I would have 
discovered it had the chance been permit- 
ted me. It was impossible to conceive 
as I stood there before her that I had 
been entirely blind. Good God ! had I 
not looked into her very soul through 
her eyes — ^were all the intimate hours 
mere fantasies — ^was it all one great 
dream? Was I insane? Of course, I 
must have been, for had I not calmly 
premeditated disaster in the house of 
Zohr — was it not all arranged by me 
with the cunningness of a madman ? If 
I had learned so to hate, or so to love 
that I hated, was it not possible for 
Louise to have discovered the uselessness 
of it all? But if she spoke the truth — 
why — good God ? What had I done ? 

She sat and eyed me with an expres- 
sion of challenge. She even fell into 
an easy abandon of kicking her legs 


The Story of Louise 

against the marble slab, and giving her 
head a toss that loosened her hair and 
let it fall in a mass about her shoulders. 

To her question I responded without 
art; I met the challenge with nasty de* 
cisiveness. 

‘‘You are a liar!^^ 

This was all I said. I went over to 
the door and bolted it in a way that 
could not quickly be undone. Louisa 
had watched me, and now jumped to 
her feet in sudden alarm. As I turned 
I saw her face deathly white, and that 
her hand went to her breast. As she 
struggled to unbutton her dress, 1 
sprang forward and seized her wrist. At 
the same instant a poignard dropped 
from her corset to the floor. I put mjr 
foot upon it, and then grasping the other 
wrist I held her for a moment as if in 
a vise. 

“You are mad, Lucien!’^ she screamed. 

182 


The Story of Louise 

Her courage had left her, and she stood 
pinned before me, frantic with horror. 

^^Yes, I am mad 1 said to her, but 
it was hard to articulate. am mad as 
men are often made over the women they 
love, and who have been the dupes of 
them! I brought you to Algeria be- 
cause I loved you, and that we might 
die together — I brought you to the 
house of Zohr, where you could stay 
alone with the worms, for by God, I will 
live now and avenge myself! I will 
know how to treat all women, and how 
to beware of my friends !’’ 

She broke away from me and ran be- 
hind a pillar, and thence to the door. 

She tried to unbolt it. 

I picked up the knife. 

She shook at the door, and then 
turned upon me in a shriek of despair. 

^^What "would you do, * Lucien — oh, 
for God’s sake let us be calm, for the sake 


183 


/ The Story of Louise 

of the Holy Virgin — Oh, Mother of 
Jesus, look down upon us!’^ 

She had fallen to her knees. Her 
beautiful hair touched the tiled floor 
like a silken sweep. Her eyes searched 
the roof, hunting for the light of heaven. 

I saw even then that she was beauti- 
ful. I thought her breasts would break 
with convulsion — I saw that she had bit- 
ten her lower lip, and drops of blood had 
fallen on the white lace that was about 
her neck. 

The handle of the knife was in the 
shape of a cross / 

^^Kiss it, Louise!’^ I cried out. I 
placed it at her mouth. Then I put it 
against my own lips and soiled them 
with the red fluid of her life. 

Then T buried the blade of the knife 
up to the hilt^ directly over her hearty 
through the delicate white skin of her 

184 


The Story of Louise 

breast^ and then I laid her back on 
the floor. 

Then I fell upon her and covered my 
face with her hair, while I reached for 
the knife and drew it forth. 

Then I heard the brass knocker bang 
on the outer doorway. 

Once, twice — three times it fell. Then 
some one cried out : 

^Tet us in — let us in 

^^Yes! Yes!’’ I answered. How 
could I have forgotten? It must be 
Zohr ! She would help me clean up the 
blood! 

I staggered to the bolt and drew it 
back. I saw the look of terrible amaze- 
ment on the face of the young Moor as 
she pushed by me hurriedly and went 
over to where the body of Louise was 
lying. I heard her scream — then I 
heard her scream and scream again, and 
I saw others following her, who desper- 


185 


The Story of Louise 


ately pushed by me as I held the door 
until my arms were strained! 

They came in great crowds; 

They surged by me like the over- 
whelming flood of the Catadupa ; 

They see^ned to be a procession ex- 
tending from Hell! 

There were monks and priests among 
them, and brightly caparisoned acolytes, 
and then it seemed to change into a feast 
of the sacrament, and I thought I heard 
an organ diapason that ran into a velo- 
cissimo away up in a cathedral loft ! 

The congregation were gathering 
about me ! But it was not the Laus Deo 
they sung! 



XY. 


After Decapitation — Then What? 

I T WOULD seem a work of superor- 
gation to write this chapter. Of 
what possible use could it be? 
You have no further interest in the dis- 
posal of such as I — you nor your heirs, 
nor your diseases can possibly be bene- 
fited by any further chronicling in the 
affairs of the several gentlemen of my 
acquaintance you have met in this nar- 
rative. 

Perhaps George Cadal has married the 
lovely Genevieve. Such would be the 
conventionality of fate. That sort of 
damnation of virtue happens every day, 
so why not ? 

I declared to you when I first took up 
my pen to write this book, that as it was 
not a tale of fiction, I would not attempt 
to deceive you by any ingenious sur- 

187 


The Story of Louise 

prises. If I were a professional novelist, 
I would erase much that I have written 
and make a number of interpolations 
that would show very plainly the under- 
lying motive for every act. I simply 
must content myself, however, by writ- 
ing the actual facts under my own ob- 
servation and let you explain the mys- 
teries to your own satisfaction. 

The story of Louise as I have written 
it, is simply a story of passion and insan- 
ity, such as Paris knows every day. Its 
streets are full of misguided young 
wretches such as I have been, who need- 
ed but the right moment for escape. I 
can see that I have disgraced the name 
of my great grandfather, and his friend 
the Admiral. 

If I could but see the Prince of Tre- 
bizonde, I feel sure he would stick by 
me. 


188 


Tlie Story of Louise _ 

God knows how I got here — in this 
jail ! 

That was weeks ago. 

Why, I was nearly mobbed because I 
wanted to bury Louise under an almond 
tree ! 

Now I am to be guillotined! For 
what? Simply because I loved a wom- 
an madly? — or because I stabbed her? 

The procurers in the courts of France 
do not try to establish justice. They 
seem to be in the pay of the executioner, 
who in turn must receive a royalty on 
every head that is chopped off. 

You wonder how this manuscript is 
to find its way out of the jail into the 
hands of the printer? I will tell you. 
I have a political friend. There’s Ke- 
menoncq, for instance. Well, he’s the 
man. I saw him yesterday and we ac- 
tually laughed over old times. He is in 
tho Court of Enquiry now. He says I 


The Story of Louise 


am not half bad, and hopes my book will 
sell well. The money will all go to Hen- 
riette. I am not ungrateful. I do not 
forget her salads. 

I hope they won’t make a mess of it 
when they chop my head off! I have 
some uncomfortable theories. We know 
that every cell in the brain has its own 
life and lives for a time after the blood 
or outside nutrition is cut off. Thus the 
million cells in our brain must live after 
the head is severed ! 



XVI 

A Courteous Consideration 


I have been permitted to correspond 
with my old acquaintance, Dr. 
Bronssais, on this question. He is 
an enthusiastic decapitateur. He writes 
me as follows : 

"The shock may cut off motion, but I do not 
think it will instantly destroy your conscious- 
ness. 

"The cell does not die so quickly as one would 
toe led to believe. There is no way of find- 
ing out by present methods of observation how 
much time is required for its death to become 
apparent in the organ of the mind, the brain. 
Consciousness after decapitation must be, and 
does not instantly cease. 

"Physiology teaches us that after the head 
Is severed from the trunk all the blood supply 
to the nerves is destroyed. The direct loss of 
blood which comes by arresting the exchanges 
of gasses in the brain, does not take place 
for some minutes after decapitation. The 
cheeks remain red, and there are other signs. 
Therefore, why shouli consciousness cease in- 
stantly? Do I not know it to be the cause of 
the biting or snapping at the air manifested by 
decapitated animals? This phenomenon is well 

191 






The Story of Louise 


miarked in the head of a tortoise separated 
from the body. 

“If you had time (which unfortunately you 
have not) to study the rapidly fatal parts of 
these factors and the respiratory theory, you 
'would observe that at first the respirations be- 
come quicker, and then after an attack of g'en- 
eral convulsions, ending in respiratory spasms, 
there follows a stage of complete cessation of 
respiration. Before this takes place there are 
usually a few snapping or gasping efforts at 
respiration. All this is after the head is severed 
from the body. The life of the brain, there- 
fore, must be retained for some time, from the 
very fact that though separated from the 
trunk, its nutritious blood and gasses (taken 
from the fund stored up in the cells) are in 
sufficient amount to carry on life for a period 
unknown at present as to time. 

> “I do not believe that all the bram cells die 
simultaneously. They have their individual life. 
I am of the opinion that in death from certain 
diseases the brain cells are last to die, and that 
they can live a certain period of time after out- 
ward manifestations of death, perhaps for three 
hours, until rigor mortis sets in, for instance, 
in apoplexy, in hemorrhage, or primary hem- 
orrhage, and typhus. 

“If I know that an ordinary cell lives after be- 
ing removed from a living body, why, then can- 
not one brain cell also retain its life when the 
conditions immediately surrounding it are much 
the same as during its previous existence, for 
it requires some hours for all the blood to drain 
from the decapitated head of a man. Recently 


192 


The Story of Louise 


1 cut off the head of a chicken and after cer- 
tain stimuli it opened its mouth’ and gaped 
for nearly five minutes. I cut off the head 
of a rabbit and found it susceptible to light 
for many minutes after it was apparently 
dead. I was able to ascertain this by holding 
a strong electric light in front of the eyes and 
moving it alternately near to and far from 
them. The pupils of the eyes followed the light 
in its movements, expanding and contracting. 
I was able to tell that the animal was capa- 
ble of smelling by the use of certain pungent 
odors placed near the nasal organs. I w'as en- 
abled to know that the decapitated animals on 
which I experimented were capable of feeling 
pain, because I stimulated certain muscles and 
got reactions which were not due merely to the 
muscles themselves. 

“As to experiments, of course, a comiplete 
demonstration could be made only at the guil- 
lotine, where special arrangements could be 
made for testing the sensations of smell, heat, 
sight, &c. during the minutes or hours after 
your death. 

“It would give me pleasure, Monsieur, to wait 
on you at that moment— and do -what I can in 
the cause of science. I believe you will at all 
events have that moment to realize that you 
have not been altogether useless in the world.” 


I am more or less pleased by this let- 
ter. Broussais was always very cour- 
teous to me. French physicians often 


193 


The Story of Louise 


hide their ignorance so completely un- 
der a garb of elastic politeness that his 
astuteness and scientific knowledge is 
worth recording. I have written him 
proposing that he should first try this 
vivisection operation : 

“Cut away the larynx in connection with the 
nerves of my body, and then cut off my head 
and see if I will be able to make sounds af- 
ter decapitation. You may be able to o'btain a 
noise or yelp by pinching certain of my muscles, 
or by the application of the electric cautery. It 
cannot help proving successful. The yelp will 
be sufficient evidence. I think this experiment 
would prove of vast value and would inspire me 
to go to the guillotine with the bravery of a 
martyr.’* 


POSTSCRIPT, 10 A. M.— 

Could the irony of fate go further? 
They have given me a boiled calf’s ear 
fried in the Italian way for my break- 
fast! 

I have completed my toilet, but the 
gentleman who is especially waiting on 


194 


The Story of Louise 


me says, that I need not be particular 
about my collar ! 

Well, Good Bye ! 

From the Paris Courier. 

THE END OF LUCIEIT ELAVEL. 


Dr. Broussals has announced to the represen- 
tatives of the various journals that had mani- 
fested much interest in the case of Flavel, the 
murderer of Madame Chapelles, that the exper- 
iment he -had been allowed to make on the de- 
capitated head of Flavel had developed the 
fact that the consciousness of the man had ex- 
tended over a period of forty seconds; that he 
is positive of a satisfied look of recognition, and 
If it had not been for an unlocked for acci- 
dent in which the head dropped from the table 
and bounded on the fioor like a canon ball, 
this subseciuent examination wouid have been 
full of surprises. 



: THE 

Royal Columbia Press 


IN PREPARATION 

MR. Million. 

The Story of a man who, without a 
cent, becomes worth a million by Club 
credit. 

The Story of two men who, without a 
cent, successfully play each other for a 
million. 

91 

The Story of a woman who plays one 
man for another and wins with a ten 
spot. 


IN PREPRATION 


By GEORGE de FONTANGES. 



This is the story of a woman’s 
love for her husband and of his 
duplicity. Her daily diary, is an 
extraordinary account of passion- 
ate love, which finally has its re- 
sponse in the husband. The 
entire scene takes place in an old 
French Chateau. 

Royal Columbia Press, 

NEW YORK. 


IN PREPARATION- 


Ci)e Rope tragedy. 


A REMARKABLE TALE OF THE 
SEA. A STUDY OF CRIME AND 
RETRIBUTION. FOUNDED ON 
FACTS FURNISHED BY THE 
MASSACHUSETTS COMMON- 
WEALTH. 


One of the chief incidents of the 
story, detailing a complete escape 
from the identification by the Ber- 
tillion system, will interest every 
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ment in the civilized world. 


Royal Columbia Press, 


NEW YORK- 









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APR 24 19C1 


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Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proce 
Neutralizing Agent; Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 



b SEP 1996 

BBRKEEPEI 


PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES, IN 




111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Twp., PA 16066 
(412)779-2111 








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